#and by nobody else i mean my manager who absolutely had the time to sit and call them | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

m-yg93 · 2 years

Text

Rematch

Pairing: JJK x Reader

WC: 13k

Genre: Smut, PWP

Rating: M (minors dni)

Warnings: Toxic!JK, Mean!Reader, D/s dynamics, teasing, humiliation, praise, degredation, crying, spanking, semi exhibitionism?, oral (m. and f. receiving) butt plug, edging, anal play, face sitting, cuffs, restraints, piercings (nipple and genital), begging, unprotected sex, choking, creampie, pain play, overstimulation

Banner by @introgfx

Beta’d by @sunshinerainbowsbts

Summary: Jungkook’s only interaction with you lasted less than an hour but you’ve ingrained yourself in his mind since. You gave him a taste of a dynamic which he now desperately craves more of. If only you’d answer one of his DMs. Guess he’ll have to up his game.

Author’s Note: Okay so Have Mercy was supposed to be a One Shot. Then I decided to make a drabble and now I have 13k. I’m a CLOWN. 🤡 Thank you to my moots who let me ramble on about this brat and encouraged me to write. Special thanks to @audreonne for giving me her e-sports knowledge and letting me use her username as OC’s gamertag.

Jungkook is faced with the dark screen of his open Discord DMs with you. Your icon sits at the top of his recent chats but it’s absent from the conversation.

His own stares him down at every attempt he’s sent out. It had started simple enough, greetings and invites to join a game once in a while. He cringes when he sees his words shift to the more desperate tries at catching your attention. He’d even said please and he knows how that’s your favorite word. He knows you’ve seen them, your icon flashing green to indicate you’re online and his heart beating against his ribcage hoping that maybe this time you’ll deem him worthy of a response.

But it stays quiet, as always.

His phone chimes to notify him of new Twitch activity. Audreonne is live! His eyes scramble to the time in the bottom left of his screen. Shit, he’s going to be late.

He still manages to catch your introduction as he gets into chat. You had your stream schedule posted on your channel and he did what he could to jump onto Overwatch whenever he saw you playing, in hopes that he’d fall into a game with you again, but he’d had no luck so far.

He’d tried to catch your attention in chat once but a follower of his had also noticed his message and the chat had flooded with messages about him. He’d seen the scowl that settled on your brow when you noticed your chat devolving into chaos. He hadn’t spoken publicly since, but still did his best to watch all your streams, arguably impressed with your skills in not only Overwatch but in various other games you showcased on your channel.

He watches you get into the game, continuing with Skyrim this time as you were going through a Legendary run. In your first session, you had run straight to the Dark Brother to hunt down the weapon you were setting up your build around, Windshear, and made easy work of any enemies once your One-Handed and Light Armor skills were maxed out.

Your chat had heavily suggested (i.e. backseat piloting ) for you to go for an Illusion Assassin build but you’d adamantly refused. “I like seeing the kill shots where I dismantle their heads from their bodies.” If hearing that ended up making Jungkook chub up in his pants, that was nobody else’s business but his own, thank you.

You were chatting casually with your viewers, taking recommendations on which quest to do next and which side of the war to support. You’ve never acknowledged his presence in your chat but sometimes you’ve let something slip that makes him believe you absolutely know he’s watching.

“If you kill Paarthurnax you’re dead to me.” Your eyes move to look straight down the camera and his brain whirs to bring up the memories of the last time he was subject to that stare. “I always respect some good restraint.” The lopsided grin that accompanied the remark sent his hand straight around his cock, squeezing to try and keep himself under control. He may be trying to keep his boner at bay but he’s not so lucky with the whimper that slips through his closed lips.

Maybe you just don’t pay too much attention to Discord. You never stream with fellow gamers so you might not check it as often as he believes. Maybe you aren’t actually ignoring him. He opens a second screen and finds the whisper function.

A chat window opens up with your name at the top. He can’t possibly come on too strong with just a hello, right? He sees his message appear at the top of the chat.

GoldenJK: hey (:

His attention goes straight back to your stream. You’re in the middle of juggling Voslaarum and Naaslaarum on the frozen lake of the Forgotten Vale when he sees your eyes flicker to something catching your attention on the second screen he knows you have to monitor the stream while playing. It’s quick enough for the two dragons to make you fumble in your attacks and drain a good chunk of vitality from your character.

“Motherfucker,” you mumble under your breath, almost imperceptible to your viewers. You pause the game as a breath of fire is just about to hit your Redguard in the face. “Sorry guys, I just need to fix a setting here that’s bothering me.” It only takes a second before you’re back in the game and both dragons are disintegrating in a shower of light as you soak up their souls.

He goes back to the open conversation. Had you taken the time to answer him during that pause? There’s definitely something waiting for him in the chat, but not what he had hoped.

This user has turned on “Block Whispers from strangers” in their privacy settings and must start a conversation with you first.

Or maybe you are ignoring him.

Jungkook’s head falls onto his desk with a groan. He’ll have to think of something else in that case.

Fine, so getting your attention one on one won’t work but he can get your attention in a form you can’t ignore. It’ll just take some work but he’s committed.

It takes some research on his part to see what brings in big viewer counts to stream and he’ll need as many as possible for this plan. He ultimately decides on a charity stream. He gets to execute his strategy to pique your interest and he can help a cause he cares about. It’s the perfect plan and everybody wins!

He sets up to work with Tiltify so stream donations can be sent automatically to his favorite animal welfare charity that supports non-kill shelters in cities with high stray populations. He’s ambitious in setting the charity goal to 100k, but he figures that 1$ for every subscriber he has should be attainable.

He keeps a close eye on your stream schedule in case of any changes, even though you haven’t changed your streaming hours in years, as he finds out. He puts out the announcement on all his social medias to announce the stream start time while assuring that the 24 hours would end right in the middle of your scheduled Saturday session.

He’s all smiles and high energy when the day finally comes and his chat starts filling up with his regular crowd. He screens through the greeting messages, seeing a lot of comments saying they probably wouldn’t be able to stick around for the whole 24 hours but they are happy he is supporting a good cause and using his platform to bring awareness.

“No worries, guys! I totally don’t expect anyone else to suffer watching their screens for all this time like I am. Pop in and out whenever you want and see what’s going on. I have a rough schedule on my Twitter for times when each game will be played if you’re more interested in some rather than others. Make sure you come back right before it ends to see if we reach our goal! I got Bam from the local shelter in my city, and they were great at taking care of him and making sure I was set up to give him the best possible life, so I want to do what I can to give back in his honor.”

Perhaps he also needed as many of his viewers active in chat when the countdown ended as possible, but they didn’t need to know that.

“We’re going to start with Overwatch while I’m at my most focused. Alright, let’s get it!”

Jungkook tries to hold back a yawn as the last hour starts ticking down. His desk is covered in opened energy drink cans, making sure to thank his sponsor every time he cracks a new one open. Jin had dropped him off something to eat midway through the stream when his friend had realized the empty bag of chips scattered around Jungkook had been his only sustenance throughout the project. His viewers might have enjoyed his hyung’s loud scolding from the outskirts of the webcam a little too much, but he’s grateful for the food.

His viewers had been enormously generous throughout the stream, and his charity goal currently read $92,515.50/$100,000 in the banner above his head. It probably won’t reach the full 100k but that is still a massive amount of funds he can provide to the organization, and he’s thrilled either way.

He’d moved on to Stardew Valley, enjoying the quiet farm life to wind down the stream. It was hard to keep his eyes open at this point and he needed something that didn’t involve being on the lookout too much, but the soundtrack is softly lulling him to sleep.

“Concerned Ape really did amazing on this music. Might just add it to my sleep playlist with how effective it’s being right now,” he jokes with his chat.

He’s distracted by the countdown clock coming into its last 10 minutes and doesn’t notice chat frantically warning him that he’s about to miss Abigail’s birthday, only taking the time to check and read once he’s already safe in bed and the end of day money count from the shipping bin starts being displayed.

“Oh, no way! I totally forgot it was today. I had the amethyst in my inventory and everything. Man, my gamergirl wifey is just slipping through my fingers.” He throws his head back in a mock wail when the donation jingle brings him back. It’d likely be the last one of the night so it was a good time to countdown to the end of the stream with his viewers.

$10,000 donated by Anonymous

It takes a second for that to register before his mouth finally catches up to his brain.

“Holy fuck! Was that a typo? Did you hit too many 0’s? Send me a DM and I’ll figure out how to get that sorted for you, dude.”

He’s still freaking out as the countdown comes down to 0:00:00 signaling the end of the stream but he can’t enact the second phase of his plan without getting this settled first. Another jingle comes in.

$1,000 donated by Anonymous “No mistake. I like animals. Good job on reaching the goal.”

His chat goes wild as the message confirms the massive donation responsible for getting him to the milestone. He’s out of his chair and screaming, grabbing his Doberman by the front paws and dancing with him around the room. Bam doesn’t understand what the sudden fuss is about but he happily bounces along with his owner.

The viewer count is at the highest it’s been all stream, well over 50k as his final donation makes the rounds on social media which brings a ton of new viewers in to see the reaction.

“I can’t thank you enough, my guy. I’m so happy we hit the objective! These funds are going to save the lives of hundreds of animals in shelters across the country. I am truly speechless, wow.”

It takes a second for him to compose himself enough to close the games and enact the second part of his plan, the reason this all started in the first place.

“I’m going to do my last good deed of the day before I go knock out so if you guys can stick around just for a minute, I’d really appreciate it. We’re going to send all this awesome positive energy out to another streamer. Make sure you guys stay respectful in their chat, we’re keeping this supportive vibe across to the other stream, please. They’re a really talented player. They’re playing Mario Kart right now, but they are super well rounded and play every game style so there’s something in their channel for every one of you, I’m sure.”

This is it. He can see you’re streaming on your own channel, casually zooming past all other karts as you race down Rainbow Road. He can hear the telltale siren of an approaching blue shell about to blast you and he hopes his chat can make up for the hit. He clicks the button and they’re off as he signals his goodbye.

He watches you groan as the shell explodes over your head and stops your kart dead in its tracks when the message appears on your screen.

GoldenJK is now raiding with 54,488 viewers!

“Woah, what’s going on in chat? Give me a second.” You’re pausing the game mid race to catch up but there’s no way to read anything as the raid messages flood through the chatroom. “Oh, a raid. Hi guys! From GoldenJK? He just ended his charity stream, right? I popped in, that was cool. Too bad he can’t keep his schedule straight enough on Stardew. RIP,” you laugh.

You knew he was doing the stream? You had watched it. The plan worked! He’d definitely caught your attention and he sits watching his screen like a moron with the biggest smile plastered on his face for another 20 minutes before you end your stream, taking the chain and raiding another streamer you knew well.

A positive interaction, and a public one at that. His plan had worked flawlessly. He can go to bed happy. He’s about to shut down his PC when Discord rings with an incoming call. He thinks the exhaustion might have caught up to him but when your name is still being announced on his screen after he rubs furiously at his eyes, he’s quick to answer the call.

“You’re a really persistent little shit, aren’t you?” You don’t give him the opportunity to even greet you before you jump on him. He’d be upset if you weren’t so right. He did do all of this for the possibility of this moment after all.

“You weren’t answering my messages,” he reasons. He keeps his voice low and eyes wide knowing damn well he can pass off as sweet and innocent. To anyone else maybe, but you’re too hard to manipulate. Your own eyes squint at his words, an eyebrow raising in defiance at his claim.

“Blowing up my Discord, camping in my streams, distracting my chat. You’re lucky I’m so nice. You weren’t rude so I called off my mods from banning you since you had changed tactics and kept quiet after you realized that wasn’t going to work. You got real close when you started whispering in the middle of a boss battle though. Really testing your limits. All that, and you didn’t think it might mean I wasn’t interested in talking to you?” you counter back.

“I mean, yeah but-”

“No buts. I guess our last interaction wasn’t enough to teach you some manners, kid.”

Jungkook scowls at the insinuation. Not that he doesn’t have manners, he knows he acts out, but he always gets what he wants so why bother with politeness. “I’m not a kid.” He knows you know that, had first hand experience with just how grown he is.

“Stop acting like one and maybe I’ll stop treating you like one,” you shrug. You don’t leave him any chance to latch on, simply brushing him off at every turn. He’s never had to chase after someone the way he does you. It’s infuriating, and inexplicably sexy.

“Kept you interested enough to watch my streams though,” he challenges.

“Stream, singular. I keep track of charity streams. I suppose you could call me a philanthropist. You’re welcome for that, by the way. Couldn’t let the welfare organization suffer at the hands of your failure to meet the goal.” You’re so casual in the mention that it takes a second for your words to fully register.

“That was you? You just have eleven thousand dollars to throw around?” He can’t hide his shock. It’s no small amount of money to be dropping so easily.

Your actions are calculated as you pick at your nails nonchalantly, shoulders rising and dropping, unfazed. “Let’s just say I don’t struggle with my streaming income. Maybe you’ll get there one day with enough patience, skills, and sponsors. Plus, I got my cat from a shelter so you got lucky and hit my soft spot.”

“Bamie’s from a shelter! He’s a rescue too.” He’s jumping to remind you that you have things in common.

“Lots of people adopt from shelters.” Your eyes are rolling at his pitiful attempts but you’re here so you might as well find out what he was so adamant about. “What did you need my attention so bad for anyway?”

Truth be told, Jungkook didn’t think he’d get this far, fully expecting to be faced with a blank screen and more silence. Obviously he knew why he needed your attention so desperately but he also knew you’d immediately drop out of the call if he tried to hit on you.

“Uh,” He’s grasping for an idea, any words to create an excuse for his actions. “Training!” Genius . “Look, I’ll admit you’re a better Overwatch player than me and since you’re also a Widowmaker main you know how to play her really well. I was hoping you could teach me?”

Both your eyebrows shoot up to your hairline. “Huh. That’s true, but I never expected you to acknowledge it. You have a whole team. I’m sure one of them can handle Widowmaker and give you some tips. It’s probably best for it to come from them since they’ll be more helpful for what will work within your established team dynamics anyway.”

“They can’t!” he exclaims. “None of them really played around with Widowmaker since I was so insistent in playing her myself. None of them know her gameplay well enough. Plus, they wouldn’t push me like I know you would.”

He’s giving himself away with that last bit of information and you both know it. His mind races to the last time you pushed him and he nearly sneaks his hand down to his cock which is hardening at the memory.

“I suppose I can figure out a training plan to help you out since I’m so generous. Give me some time to set something up and I’ll send you an invite link to log into a private game to give you the rundown.”

“No!” he cries out. “I can’t learn online. I failed all my remote classes at school, can’t focus. We’re both in the same city, right?” As if he didn’t know the answer already. He’d been on your social media for weeks, he knew very well that you were in his city but had nearly zero chance of crossing his path. It was populated by a few million people after all. “Can you give me some in-person training?”

You purse your lips, trying not to let the smug grin escape with a chuckle. “You sure are asking a lot. I’ll make you a deal - you ask me politely and sincerely, and I’ll consider it.” You lean into the back of your chair, arms crossing over your chest.

Jungkook might be short circuiting a little bit. You didn’t say no. All he has to do is ask. He can handle that!

“Can you come over and train me?” He’s met with silence and a dead stare. Just enough to remind him that he’s missing the most important thing. “Please?” he adds.

He’s rewarded with a seemingly sweet smile that he knows hides a much more sinister story behind your pearly white teeth.

“Such a good boy when you know your manners. Send me your address. Be ready at 7 next Friday. Make sure you clean up. I don’t want to walk into that room with it smelling like a basement, covered in cum-stained tissues.”

He doesn’t have the chance to defend himself and let you know that he obsessively keeps his apartment neat and smelling fresh, thank you very much, before the call drops and he’s faced with a dark silent screen and a lap screaming for attention.

Jungkook might have overdone it on the cleaning to make sure his place was up to your standards. He had put on his alarm to wake up early and spent the day scrubbing at any surface he could reach. Would you see the top of his kitchen cabinets? Absolutely not. Did he make sure to grab his step stool and eliminate any speck of dust up there? Yes, he did.

By the time he’s done, his clothes are damp with sweat and his head is dizzy from the overpowering lemon scent of his products. He opens up all his windows and turns on the diffusers in every room. His friends often told him he was excessive in the amount of air purifiers he had in his two bedroom apartment. Sorry if he’s sensitive to smells and wants to be able to breathe properly. He’s rushing to jump in the shower when he finally finishes and notices the time. You’ll be here soon and he stinks.

He’s in a matching set of soft sweatpants and a hoodie, hands still furiously rubbing at his wet hair with a towel when the doorbell rings. His heart is in his throat knowing that you’re only a few feet away behind his front door. The doorbell rings a second time, breaking him out of the panic-induced freeze he’d been stuck in.

“Coming!” At least, he sure hoped he would be.

He’s steeling himself with one last deep breath before he throws the door open. He has his most charming smile plastered on his face and a warm welcome on the tip of his tongue. All of which immediately dries up and dies on his lips when he’s finally faced with seeing you in the flesh.

All your streams had you in comfortable clothes, soft fabrics and modest necklines but the woman on his doorstep is a vixen. His eyes are pulled down by a gravitational pull outside of his control. They pass through your hair hanging loosely around your face, pausing at the skin of your cleavage peeking through the low cut of your top, flesh straining against the right fabric across your chest. His gaze continues further down to the pleated skirt that ends dangerously high on your leg, letting a smooth expanse of skin catch his attention before it disappears into your thigh high socks. He’s hypnotized by the soft pudge that is created where the fabric of your sock digs into the meat of your leg. His mind is reeling and thoughts of bite bite bite are bouncing in his empty cranium.

“You’re drooling.” It’s a reflex to bring his hand up to his mouth to check if a little bit of saliva had ended up pooling at the edge of his open lips, but it comes away dry. Just the start of the teasing he knows he’ll be subjected to.

“I- uh, thighs.”

The loud laugh that echoes around him finally breaks him out of his hypnosis. “Yes, very astute. Are you going to let me go inside or are you intent on giving your neighbors a show?” His brows furrow at your words until he follows your eyes down to his groin where his dick had started to press against his sweatpants, forming an embarrassing tent.

His hands are quick to cover up, cheeks heating in humiliation. Why is it always so easy for you to get a reaction out of him? You haven’t done anything at all and here he is, boner out for anyone to see like some horny teenager.

“Sorry,” he apologizes, voice quiet enough for it to only be heard between you. He gets out of the way to open up the doorway for you to come in, then closes the door behind you, making sure to check that nobody in the neighborhood had been privy to this shameful moment.

“I swear I can control myself. I’m not some sort of animal.” It’s only once you’re fully in his living room, eyes drifting to every corner and taking in his space that he notices the black bag you brought along. “What’s in there?”

Your smirk is devious, inching slowly as your eyes darken. “Training materials, of course. You see, I figured out your issue. Your main flaw is your lack of focus and that’s because you’re not actually a gamer, you’re a streamer. You’ve programmed yourself to respond to distractions, like incoming subs and donations so you can reply and interact with your chat. It makes for a good influencer and entertainer, but breaks your skills for whatever game you’re playing.”

“So I have to practice staying focused and ignoring distractions?” he asks. You’re nodding in reply. “Okay, that makes sense. How are we going to do that?”

There’s an evil twinkle in your eye as you drop the bag to the floor, bending down to rip it open and dig your hand in to pull out your so-called ‘training materials’ into his view. His heart beats a little harder as each item is divulged.

He’s nervous, he thought he knew what he was getting into by getting you face to face but he should have known better than to think you wouldn’t continue to surprise him. His face goes pale when it dawns on him that the buttplug you pull out isn’t for you as you instruct him to turn around and bend over.

“What?” he asks, eyes wide. “I do the stuffing, not the other way around.”

Your shoulders shrug, unconcerned, as you make to pack up again. “Alright then. I thought you wanted my help, but I can just go if you’re not going to take my training regiment seriously.”

“No! I do! I’ll follow your lead.” A self-satisfied smirk is his only response.

Which is how he ends up bent over his couch, face digging into the cushion, back arched and presenting himself like a bitch in heat. He won’t lie to himself and deny that the warmth of your palm rubbing circles over the curve of his ass isn’t soothing and causing him to melt further into stuffing of the sofa.

He has almost forgotten the purpose for his position, head floating away into the feeling of your skin on his until the cold sticky feeling of lube dropping onto his hole wakes him from his daze, body stiffening.

“Shhhh, relax sweet boy, I got you,” you comfort from behind him. There’s gentle tight circles being drawn around his rim and he can’t tell if the shiver that courses through him is from the chill of the lube or your praises. A little bit of both, he supposes. You’re careful not to rush him, letting him release the tension before slowly but purposefully applying pressure into your touch until it breaches the tight ring of muscle.

“Ahh!” The noise that escapes him is uncontrolled. It doesn’t hurt and it’s not particularly pleasurable, just odd and unfamiliar. You give him time to accommodate the new intrusion before continuing to burrow until your finger is nestled deep and comfortable inside him. It’s a slow and teasing motion to thrust it out and back in again until it feels right to add in another, the stretch pulling more soft whines from his chest.

“You’re doing so good for me, darling. Just letting me use that tight little virgin hole, hmm?” Jungkook hasn’t been a virgin in years but the idea of allowing you to be the first to defile him in a way sends his brain buzzing. He can’t bring himself to reply with actual words, only incoherent noises falling from his lips as he lets you work.

You start to pry your fingers apart, letting them stretch him open until he encloses your fingers in a comfortable pressure but loose enough to enact the next part of your plan. “I’m making you feel good, aren’t I? Isn’t this nice?” you ask, voice slipping into a teasing tone.

All he can do is frantically nod at your insistence. It does feel nice. He is starting to think he’ll have to add some fingering into his masturbating routine if it helps make his mind drift off like this.

“Hold on to something,” is the only warning you give him before curling your fingers and giving a vicious push to tickle at a spot inside him that makes him scream.

“Oh God, FUCK-” His body is pulling away from your fingers, aching to run from the sensation that sends a jolt of electricity down his entire spine. Your free hand comes to grab at his hip and pull him back with a tsk.

“Don’t start acting up already. Grab at the couch if you need to but stay still.” His hands are reaching to grasp the meat of the cushion beneath him, teeth grinding down as you repeat the motion again, slower this time, trembles wracking through him followed by an obscene moan. “There we go. See? You just need to trust me to make you feel good, sweetling.”

You’re right of course, you always seem to be, helping him discover parts of himself he didn’t know existed. He revels in the feeling, legs turning shaky under your touch, abdomen tightening. He can nearly taste his impending release before you cruelly rip your fingers away, leaving him clenching around empty air and choking on a sob.

“Did you really think you’d be able to sneak an orgasm past me? I do everything possible to make you into an obedient pet and you just prove how much you’re a brat at every turn.” You finish with a sharp spank to his cheeks, redding the skin under your strike.

“No, please! I’m good, I can beg like you like, please!” There are tears threatening to fall from the corner of his eyes at his ruined release, the tension previously building now slowly ebbing away.

“Hmm, not good enough unfortunately. I’m not completely heartless, I won’t leave you empty.”

There’s another loud squirt piercing the air and then a splatter of lube lands on his hole, sinking past the muscle that winks at the loss. There’s enough that it drips down to cover his balls, tickling his skin when it continues to flow along the underside of his shaft. He feels a hard pressure behind him again, thicker than your fingers had been. The plug nestles heavy inside him, the girth pushing at his walls but not angled to hit the spot you had been so intent on abusing earlier. It’s a comforting pressure but not enough.

“What can I do so you’ll let me cum?” he pleads. Maybe he can bribe you into bringing him to completion. Your hand wraps around him and gives a single teasing stroke that nearly makes his knees give out from under him.

“Nuh-uh, time to train now.”

He nods reluctantly, that’s what he had said he wanted after all. You throw something at him. He catches it on instinct, feeling the soft material under his calloused fingertips.

“Put these on and prepare to go live.”

Jungkook’s unsure if the blood boiling under his skin is from the harsh lights of his set up, which makes sure his face cam is nicely illuminated, or if his body is still reacting to the earlier activities. You had instructed him to change the angle of his webcam, so it now focused straight at his face the same way yours did, rather than the previous angle which showed off most of his body, but you didn’t give him the excuse as to why. He knows better than to question you at this point, so he adjusts the angle and starts his livestream as you had instructed.

He’s setting up some solo maps, explaining to chat that he’s working on changing his technique so he doesn’t want to have to work with teammates online.

He’s squirming in his seat. The solid base of the plug is uncomfortable to sit on and his skin is brushing against the smooth fabric of the lacy panties you had thrown at him earlier. The lace trim scratches at his skin but the silk is soft against his cock, still half hard from the lack of release from earlier. He had thought about refusing to put on the garment but he can still remember the defying glint in your eye as the thought stayed quiet on his tongue.

His mind is drifting away from the game as a particular movement makes the plug brush against his prostate. He’s chasing after the feeling, trying to get it to hit the spot again when the chat catches his eye.

You good, JK?

You’re looking a little red, dude

Are you sick?

“Ah, n-no, it’s just a little hot in my apartment. I’m fine! Let’s try out these new tactics.” He’s stuttering through replying. Do they know? They can’t possibly know, it’s okay. He’s trying to distract them away from his blushing face because they’re right. He is sick. Just not with an illness, just a sick little pervert.

He’s trying to focus, really. He knows you’re out of frame, staring down his screen to monitor his actions, judging where he decides to grapple and hide to sneak attack his foes. There’s no reaction from you so he’s unsure whether his new attempts are up to your standards. He knows you wouldn’t make any noise and alert his chat of your presence, but how is he supposed to know he’s making any progress?

On the screen, Widowmaker cleans up her enemies, one kill after another, lulling him into a false sense of security. He didn’t expect the sudden thrum of low but steady vibrations to strike through him. Eyes widening and mouth falling open, his attention is diverted to where you’re hiding in a corner of the room, sitting on a chair, legs casually open, pose relaxed. It’s only now that he notices the little remote in your hand.

One of your eyebrows is raised as if to dare him to challenge you, so he’s quick to shut his mouth and bring his stare back to his screen. He wonders if his chat can see how tightly his molars are biting against each other at the back of his jaw and the way his ass grinds down into the cushion of his chair.

He should have figured it wouldn’t be that easy.

Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. Eyes in front of him. Fingers carefully poised on each button of his keyboard. He brings Widowmaker to look through the scope of her rifle as he aims to catch the head of an enemy bobbing between buildings far in front of him, and that’s when you strike your own attack, bringing the strength of the vibrations up several notches.

“Ack!” he exclaims, body jumping up in surprise. He’s biting on his lips to prevent any further sounds of escaping but his loss of focus brings his end as he hears the death announcement booming in his ears. The sensations stop immediately.

It takes a second for his heartbeat to slow to a reasonable pace, but it skips when he diverts his gaze to you. only to be met with a sinister smirk. His chat is alight with the sudden change in his vibe.

Is everything okay?

What happened, dude?

“It’s okay, everyone. I thought I saw something on the edge of the screen and got spooked,” he chuckles. It’s a lame excuse, of course. They all saw there was nothing happening on his screen to warrant the alarm but what else was he supposed to say? Sorry everyone, a devilish woman has me wrapped around her finger and her plug? He’d never admit that, even less so to his followers

“Back to it then. I think I’m getting somewhere.” The next game is set up and Jungkook jumps back into it, now more wary of the possibility of being attacked both in game and out of it.

You don’t move for a while. He gets so engrossed in the game and chatting with his viewers that he nearly forgets your presence in the room, like it’s just another stream as usual.

He’s joking with the chat about a certain move the NPC made that resulted in an easy kill when he senses something brush against his leg under the desk. He doesn’t think much of it, he owns a dog that requires a lot of attention. It’s not the first time Bam came and poked at him during a game.

Realization dawns on him quite quickly when he feels the hem of his sweatpants being tugged insistently downwards. There’s something, someone, under his desk that is adamant about getting him pantsless.

He pauses the game and excuses himself to chat. “Sorry, guys. Bam is under my desk and it’s a little distracting.” He’s backing up his chair to get a good view at what’s waiting for him under his desk. He was prepared to see you hiding under there but the view of you on your knees, tucked between his legs, eyes bright and smirk high on your lips still makes an aroused shudder go through him.

“Get out,” he demands but the look you give back reminds him that demands will get him nowhere. “Get out from under the desk, please? ” He’s trying his luck but he knows very well that his requests will fall on deaf ears. Focus you’re mouthing back at him. He tucks his chair back under his desk with a defeated groan.

“Looks like he’s a little stubborn today,” which earns him a tight pinch to his thigh, answering wince in reply. “I’ll just have to do my best to ignore him down there.” He knows that’s exactly what you want him to do, phase 2 of your evil training regiment he’s sure.

He does try, he swears, but he’d argue that any man with a pretty girl between their legs would struggle to play a damn videogame. He’s missing shots every time your hands stroke his skin a little too close to his groin, and he can’t imagine the scandalous sight you must be faced with as his cock fills out and strains against the flimsy fabric of the baby blue panties you put him in.

He’s trying not to think about the humiliation coursing through him at the thought of his viewers possibly catching a glimpse of what’s happening under his desk. His cheeks feel awfully warm. He pointedly refuses to check his camera for the proof and ignores the messages in chat that remark about it.

He thinks he’s not doing so terribly given the circumstances. Not until he feels the warm and wet sensation of your tongue laving against the silk that’s trapping his cock against his stomach. The panties are assuredly ruined between the wet patch where he leaks precum matching where your mouth suckles at the head of his cock through the fabric. It’s impossible to stop the groan that flies out of his mouth.

“Ah, missed an easy shot there, my bad.”

Your touch ignites fire beneath his skin and he’s sure his blush is flaming across every inch of his body. Your fingers are so soft where they taunt up the tight planes of his abdomen under his shirt, out of sight from the viewers. They crawl back downwards, catching the hem of the undergarments. There’s wicked snaps where you grab the elastic only to let it go where it hits back against his skin.

“Shit, off. Take it off.” Thankfully for him, his request passes off as D.Va launches her mech at his character and he manages to avoid the armor hurling into him. He takes the opportunity to strike her down while her defense is low.

There’s an audible sigh of relief when he finally feels the panties being slowly slipped out from under his ass and down the expanse of his legs to join his sweatpants pooling at his feet. He can feel how hard his cock is, holding shape straight up towards the underside of his desk, desperate for a touch.

You grant it nearly immediately, wrapping your hand loosely around his dick. He wishes he could see how your fingers look around his shaft. Would your hand look small in comparison? Would it engulf his length and shame him? He’s not sure which he’d rather more.

Just as you let your tongue drag from the bottom of his shaft up to the crown, circling the head and slipping it just past your lips he gets shot by an enemy which is lucky as the soft “fuck,” he releases blends easily into the situation. His brow is furrowed as he tries to stay alive both in game and under your touch. Had he gotten the full visual he’s sure he would have ascended to heaven right then and there.

You don’t have compassion for him for too long, though. You’re quick to deliver a powerful suck as you lap your tongue across the slit, hand tightening and stroking downward all at once. His fingers are digging into his keys, letting attacks fire off unwillingly.

He’s lost the power to be able to win at this rate but as long as he can stay in the game, your own game stays in play as well. His teeth grind down and the grip on his mouse cramps his hand.

Under the desk you’ve fallen into a tortuous rhythm. Hand stroking tightly, up and down, up and down. Your mouth follows close behind it, pulling a strong suck every time the flow reaches back up towards the head. Your spare hand has sneaked its way to his balls, softly palming them with the occasional tug. At one point the heat of your mouth leaves him and he thinks he’s finally been giving respite until he feels the wet muscle of your tongue licking wicked laps at his balls. He thinks it can’t possibly get worse for him but you open wide and sweep up both of his balls into your mouth all while your hand continues its cruel motion over his cock, adding a twist under the crown, little zaps of pleasure hitting him every time your fingers press against the 4 barbells on the underside of his cock. He’s about to fall apart just as you retreat entirely.

His breathing is heavy and he knows it’s obvious. There’s no point looking at chat now, they’re all calling him out for his odd behavior today. He’s using the benevolent pause you’ve given him to strike down a few enemies and catch up where his poor performance left him behind. He’s almost done the round, he can finish this.

The low rumble is back, sending jolts up through his spine. You’re not done with him yet and he’s on the edge of his seat awaiting your next move. Figuratively and literally, his ass had inched its way nearly off the chair as he chased after the warmth of your mouth. Along with the vibrations comes the sting of your nails digging into the meat of his thigh. They’re crawling upwards towards his dick, which is painfully hard and leaking.

There’s clear technique behind how confidently you spear his length entirely down your throat, massaging your tongue against his piercings. His whole body shivers and grows rigid under you. He can feel the muscles at the back of your throat contracting against him, fighting the intrusion but you hold strong. He’s doing his best to fight against the sensation too, waiting to see which one of you two will buckle first. But you have the advantage.

The vibrations increase again and he loses his nerve. His head bows towards the desk as a loud wail tears its way from his chest. He can feel the hard thunk of his forehead meeting the wood and his hands abandon their spot at the keys to slink under the desk and find home in your hair, fingers grasping at the strands.

You pull back before he has the chance to let go, another orgasm ripped from under him. His eyes come back to the screen and his chat is going wild at the sudden outburst.

“You know what? I think you guys are right. I’m not feeling too great. I’m going to end it here for tonight. I’ll be back to my regular schedule tomorrow. Thanks for being Golden!” He quickly tries to get to the end of his tagline before he turns off his programs to end the stream.

Once he’s sure he’s no longer live, he throws himself into the back of his chair, sending it rolling away from the desk to look at you. Your hair is messy from his tugging and your lips are red and plump, drool falling on his lap and dripping to the floor. You’ve never looked more beautiful and the urge to kiss you has never been stronger.

“Let me come? Please? I’ll beg, whatever you want. Just please let me come.” He’s already begging but whatever you need to hear, he’ll say.

“Why would I? You stopped training without permission. You never learn,” you rebuke.

“I had to! Did you want me to come in front of all my viewers, huh? I can’t ruin my reputation, this is my career as much as it is yours,” he defends himself.

“Of course not, bun.” Your frame raises from the floor, hands tracing his thighs, up the side of his ribcage, your body bent over his own. One of your hands settles on his cheek, palm curved around his jaw in an uncharacteristic act of comfort, until your fingers dig in a firm grasp to keep him still, his eyes boring into yours. “You’re not allowed to come until I say so. You wouldn’t have come in front of them because you know better, don’t you?”

He struggles to nod in agreement through your grip, he does know better by now. You’re wrong, he does learn but he’s still not ready to be entirely wrong himself. “Anyone would have crumbled in my place too. Nobody can play that well with a mouth on them like that. I bet you couldn’t either!”

He knows very well that he’s provoked something in you with that wager. “You think I’m weak enough to fall apart because of a little bit of oral? You want to try and prove me wrong, do you? You think you’re good enough with your tongue to make me fail?” There’s arrogance in your voice and he knows it’s far from misplaced, but he’s made his bed and the only option now is to lie in it.

“I do.”

There’s an audible gulp coming from his throat when he sees one of your eyebrows quirk up. He’d spent enough time watching your streams and studying your gameplay to have picked up that the tic always precedes you doubling down on whichever enemy, NPC or not, that’s managed to piss you off. You raise to your full height, now towering over his body in the chair.

“Kneel.”

The command is simple and direct. Easy to follow as he slides out of his seat, knees hitting the ground. Your hands inch the hem of your skirt up towards your waist, just enough to slip your thumbs into the waistband and ease your underwear down your legs to let them pool at your feet. Jungkook’s eyes follow the fabric down, brain registering that they look strikingly familiar to the pair he was previously wearing himself. You hadn’t just brought a pair of panties to put on him, you’d brought a pair of your panties and let them rub against him, now stained with the precum he had leaked throughout your earlier teasing. Would you throw them out now or would you keep them? Physical proof of him putting his brand on you just as you’ve branded him in a way with the control you so easily exert over him.

In his fog, he hasn’t noticed how you’ve turned around to click away on the keyboard, bent over the desk, ass now presented straight in his face. Your pussy peeks from under the curve where your ass meets the top of your thighs. There’s a glimmer of a shine proving that you weren’t totally unaffected by your actions on him. A part of you is still human, no matter how much restraint you’re able to display.

There’s a deep need in his fingertips urging him to reach out, spread your cheeks apart to get the view he’s craving. He’s aching, from his cock through his entire being, to see the gem he’s been fantasizing about for all these weeks. His fingers twitch at the thought but you turn around just in time to stop him from bringing his hands forward onto your legs.

His eyes trail back up where your skirt now provides modesty. Modesty which he now knows is but a facade, part of the act. You’re not as innocent as you make yourself appear to your viewers. They’ve been fooled, just as he had during that first game when you two interacted. His gaze falls on the screen. where he can see you’ve now logged into your own account and set up an online game. A slight confusion crosses his mind but the view of his earphones set on your head, microphone adjusted in front of your mouth clears it up. You’re planning on being on voice chat through all of this to prove your point.

You slip past him, back towards your infernal bag of tricks. Jungkook doesn’t see what you’ve come back with since you stop behind him. Your knees are bracing his thighs from the outside as you kneel at his back. He’s sitting on his heels, taking the lower position, head leaning onto your chest. His eyes are nearly turning to the back of their sockets. They’re looking for you, for a clue of what comes next.

Your hands are flat on his thighs, soft against the hard muscle but nails sharp where they stab into his skin. You never let him forget that you are the embodiment of duality. They tease as they crawl up his lap to his hips, avoiding where his dick lays hard and useless between his legs. He can see that your eyes are trained on it. You’re focused on watching it twitch, unable to calm enough to rest comfortably as it seeks any sort of stimulation. There’s a long string of precum that clings to the head, leaking down his shaft and pooling on his balls.

“Please,” he asks. Jungkook doesn’t know what else he could ask for at this point. He has no control of the situation. The best he can do is plead and hope you are sympathetic.

“Oh, baby. It’s not about you anymore now. You wanted to prove yourself so you’ll have to do better than that.” His despair can be tasted in the air around him. Your hands swoop past his cock without a single brush of a fingertip. They take hold of the hem of his sweater and drag the fabric upwards tantalizingly slowly against the skin of his abdomen. “Hands up, darling.” With that his sweater is thrown into an unknown corner of the room and he’s left fully naked on the floor of his gaming room.

Did he ever expect to be on his knees where he works, under the dominance of a woman at that? No. Can he say he’s mad at it though? Also no. The anticipation sends a shiver running down his spine. Your hands settle on his shoulders and run down his arms.

“Your tattoos are pretty.” There’s that word again. You’d used it a lot that first time. Calling his tits pretty, his nipples, his cock . He never thought he’d like to be called something so feminine but all he wants now is for you to shower him with compliments, so if pretty is your word of choice he’ll gladly take it.

Your hands are wrapped around each of his wrists, your fingers struggling to close around them. He doesn’t fight against the pressure of your hold, simply letting you bring them behind him to settle at his back. There’s a thick material wrapping around each of them, closing tightly against his skin. A tinkle of metal as clasps are buckled. A light aroma of leather in the air. Your hands are back at his front, swimming through each bump of his abs and onto the bottom of his pecs, settling to tease between each of his most erogenous zones without giving either of them the attention he craves so desperately.

With an experimental tug Jungkook confirms his suspicions that his wrists are now bound. Your hair tickles at his neck. Your lips are close enough to nibble at the shell of his ear when you whisper, “If you’re so confident in your skills you’ll only need your mouth, right?”

Honestly, that’s somewhat unfair. You’ve been using your hands on top of your mouth to torture him. But he won’t admit to the disadvantage. “Try me,” he challenges.

“One last thing.” Your fingers make a beeline towards his nipples, twisting the pierced buds. His back flies into an arch, scream high on his lips as he chases after the stimulation he’s been looking for. “That little show last time wasn’t an exaggeration, huh. You really are as sensitive as you seemed. Let’s see if you’re as much of a little painslut as you made me believe.”

The tinkling of metal is back again. There are two chains in your hands, each with a clamp on one end and a ring on the other. “You even changed your barbells to little rings. Did you hope I’d use something to pull on them? Were you expecting all this? Am I predictable after all?”

Honestly, he just liked changing out the jewelry periodically. He liked how putting in a new piece would burn just a little and make the buds stiff as he pushed the metal through the opening in his skin. Was he hoping that you’d play with them? Of course. He knew that you were so focused on them when he played with them himself the last time that you wouldn’t be able to resist getting your own hands involved. Were you predictable though? Absolutely not. Every time he thinks he has something figured out, you flip the script and send him scrambling. Truthfully, he likes it better this way.

He doesn’t audibly answer any of your questions. He knows they’re mostly rhetorical. You don’t want replies, you just like getting in his head, each slip of your tongue sending his mind spinning. Besides, the soft whimpers and moans escaping him are all you’re truly after.

He can feel the weight of the clamp as you clip them onto the rings that pierce through each nipple. It’s not the direct sting he was looking for but there’s a pleasant weight that tugs them down. The experimental yank you give to each nipple makes his chest reverberate with a deep groan. He can see each of the pebbled nubs get pulled to tear away from his chest, straight outwards as you test the force that you can exert. He won’t give up so easily though, only pleasurable little noises escaping him.

You seem satisfied enough since you let go of the tension of the chains, slipping both the rings onto your middle finger. You take a seat on his chair, not the casual sprawl that he’s used to seeing you in but knees bent under you to leave an empty space directly between yourself and the seat.

You pat the empty spot with your palm. “Come,” you command, as if calling an untrained puppy to its spot at your heel. Jungkook figures this situation isn’t that far off. It’s a little harder than he expected to crawl to the space between your legs with his hands behind his back, knees dragging along the wooden floor.

“Good, turn around.” His brow furrows at the order but doesn’t question it. He turns his back to the chair, eyes facing towards the desk, or more so under it from his new low angle. Your fingers rake through his hair, nails scraping deliciously into scalp. He almost lets himself fall into the feeling before you’re pulling at it roughly. You’re dragging him backwards. He expects to fall onto his back but his nape hits the end of the chair, head falling onto the cushion.

He’s staring straight up at your face. Your body is hunched over him to manhandle him into position. It feels precarious, wheels threatening to roll away and send him hurtling backwards. His back is arched uncomfortably but not in a way that can’t be upheld with a little effort.

Once you seem pleased with his placement, your focus is back on the computer, setting up the lobby. He can’t quite see the screen from this angle but he knows the game starts since you’ve devoted all your attention to what’s in front of you, completely ignoring that he’s just under you, waiting for what comes next.

His questions are answered soon enough when your hand flies across the mouse pad to aim your gun at an opponent, which takes the ends of the chains with it, resulting in a sharp tug emanating from his chest. A loud moan follows and he knows his microphone would have picked that up.

“None of your business, focus on taking care of Doomfist and less about what’s going on in my room, huh?” Your teammate must have heard the outburst. Well, at least it was nice to know your snark at him during that first game was simply your default setting.

You must have silenced your mic for a moment because the next thing you say is, “We’re going to have to shut you up, huh?” and he figures that’s not directed to the people on the other side of the call. You’re not waiting for an answer, probably didn’t want one at all but the whine and quick little nods from him just makes you look more satisfied.

Darkness envelops his vision from your skirt lowering itself around his head but there’s no time to regain his bearings. Dropping yourself onto his face finally gives him his first chance at a touch of you. His hands may be unable to reach out like he’d want but his head lifts to meet you halfway, tongue out and searching.

He lets you settle fully onto your makeshift seat. He’s relishing in your musky scent. He had imagined how you might smell. Your skin gives off a faint aroma of vanilla which he’s sure comes from a lotion that you must have applied before your meeting, but it’s overpowered by the natural smell of arousal. He can feel the stickiness where it rubs against his cheek and across his nose.

The pace of him basking in your offering must be too slow for you because he hardly has time to enjoy it when another harsh pull of the chain causes a warm puff of air to flow from his mouth and catch against you. You’ve definitely noticed as the pulse of your core can be felt against his wandering lips. Turns out it’s a lot harder to be skilled when you can’t see where to focus your efforts.

His tongue acts as his eyes, licking up into warm flesh and looking for your trigger. He’s drunk on your taste, heavy on his lips. Jungkook is self aware enough to know he’s probably eaten more pussy than most and he enjoys it every time but none could compare to you right now. Do you actually taste better than any woman he’s had the chance to have squirming under him or do you simply have him bewitched? He suppose he’ll never truly know, only savoring what he’s given.

He can still hear you mumbling out commands at your teammates, orders on where to be placed, who to kill. You haven’t given any indication that he’s distracting you at all. He pushes the tip of his tongue into you where it’s the most warm and wet and traces it up the slit up to where he knows is the little button to make you break. He knows he’s landed on your clit when you give a subtle grind into his mouth.

Lips nibble around your nub, tongue laving tight little circles over it. Your hips are moving across his face. He’s barely doing any of the work as you use him to chase your own pleasure. He awaits to hear your own little cries to betray what’s going on at your end of the call but they never come. And neither do you. He’s putting in effort, pulling all his best tricks that would have any other woman begging for reprieve but you’re largely silent, the only words coming out of you barks at your comrades whenever a play fails.

He’s giving a long suck at your clit when he’s surprised with a new, more sadistic pull of the chain. It sends a scream from his throat into your own body, letting it vibrate through your core. He continues letting out sweet little moans to add to the stimulation and thinks this, this’ll do it.

The brightness of the room is shocking when you raise yourself off his face. The broken sob heard isn’t from the pain that pierces through his eyes at the light but the loss of you. His head is chasing after your taste, tongue still out and reaching. His face is wet, lips from the arousal that has spread and eyes from the frustrated unshed tears that have started to threaten to spill.

“Guess you’re not as good as you thought after all.” You’re taunting him but he’s weak and bites at the bait.

“I didn’t get enough time. Plus you’ve restricted me way more than you had been, it’s unfair!”

Light peals of laughter fill his ears. You’re mocking him and he’s reminded of the ache in his groin, still hard and so far from release. “Oh sweetie, I played four whole rounds. You had plenty of time. Plus, you needed air at some point.”

Jungkook wants to argue that he didn’t need air, he needed you . Just needs you to sit back down and smother him. If he’s going to die, drowning in pussy sounds like a fabulous way to go.

“It’s not my fault you just aren’t up to the challenge. I hope you learned something about focus through this though. You’ll need it. I’m giving you another chance because I am benevolent.”

He should be concentrating on the little things he could have picked up on through this torture, but all that’s ringing in his head is that another chance just means he gets to have your hands on him again. His dick twitches at the thought.

You unshackle his wrist and take off the clamps from the rings. Both areas ache with a delightful pressure, a mild buzzing going through him. You force him to log back into his own account because “I’m not going to let you ruin my stats.”

He’s back to sitting on his chair, body heavy into the back rest, chest rising and falling in hard pants. The air feels thicker in the room and it’s tinged with the smell of the sex he hasn’t gotten to fully experience. You’re flitting around the room behind him as he sets up his custom lobby again. Once he’s done he turns to see what you’ve been up to, finding that you’ve dragged the floor length mirror that’s usually in his room to lean across the wall behind his chair. Questions arise, but he doesn’t let any of them form into words.

You tug on his chair to put enough space between him and the desk to sneak through. You’re at the perfect height for him to stare right down your cleavage, urging the buttons that keep your blouse closed to pop open. He could use a blessing right about now.

It might not be what he was aiming for, but the universe does reward him by having you climb into his lap, knees on either side of his hips. You hook your chin over his shoulder, chest crushed against his own. You’re soft against him and he seeks more of your delicate skin. His hands gravitate to your ass, palms taking a wide handful of flesh itching to push it down to his lap.

“You’re not going to win anything if your hands aren’t on the keyboard, brat.” There’s a hand sneaking between the both of you to twist cruelly at his nipple. His hips raise in response to the stimulation, but you’re pulling up and away before he can make contact. His hands are flying off you before you can exert another punishment. It’s torture to bring each of his arms around you and not grab onto anything he can reach. He can’t blame his poor view on why it takes him so long to ready up. He can see the screen clearly over your body, but you’re warm against him and all his cells are screaming touch touch touch.

The game starts and he’s methodical, thinking of each move before he does it. He is seeing some improvement already, reaching areas at a better pace and firing off more accurate headshots than he used to. There are little movements in his peripheral that catch his eye. Your head moves against his shoulder and he feels it. Right there, on his neck, is a little peppering of kisses. Gentle across his skin, hot and wet as you let your tongue lick behind every brush of your lips.

Jungkook’s teeth grind against each other but a soft whine slips around a hum. His head is tilting, bringing the view of his screen off balance, but it’s worth it for the feeling of your teeth nibbling at him in the new space he’s created. He can feel where they dig into the muscle followed by a soft suck that he knows will leave a mark. He hopes you litter the entirety of his neck in deep purple hickeys that he won’t be able to hide, or perhaps show off, during his next stream. He wants you to mark your territory, sending a message to the next woman to hit on him.

He falters and his character gets hit, but he’s able to dodge the next shot and get out of range. He can grab the health pack he sees not far from his hiding place and it’s like nothing ever happened. You’re just getting started though. Your hips join your plan. They rotate in hellish little circles. His cock is trapped between his abdomen and the fabric of your skirt. He’s leaking but it’s not enough to counter the roughness of the cotton against his skin, all too sensitive now.

You must take pity on the pained little whimpers he’s letting out each time you swing forward and rub against him because he can feel your skirt being inched up around your waist, now leaving him free to feel the soft wet skin on the underside of his dick. The pace at which you move is excruciating. You take your time angling your hips forward and dragging them up. He swears he can feel your clit pass over each of the four barbells that decorate just under his head. You let the tip push right over your slit, giving him just a second of bliss where he can practically imagine slipping in. You bring yourself back down and repeat the motion in an agonizing rhythm.

He can barely make sense of what’s going on in the game but you’re quick to remind him. “Approach from the north, grapple to the roof.” He understands the purpose of the mirror now. You’re watching him play. You can see every move he makes, judging his skills and when to strike with your own.

He manages to tune out the delicious strokes you torment him with for another few minutes. He’s finally gotten into a groove. He’s focused . At least he is until you wait for him to be looking through the scope of his gun, ready to fire an impressive shot from halfway across the map. You’re at the tip of your rotation, the head of his cock enveloped between your folds. He’s got the enemy Sombra in his crosshairs when you sink straight down to the base of his cock, ass fully settled onto his lap.

If he’s honest Jungkook doesn’t know what kind of noise he lets out. His mind goes blank, vision dark as his eyes clamp close. There’s static in his ears, and the universe falls apart at the seams. All he knows is nothing in the world could feel as good as you do in this moment. His throat feels hoarse at whatever sound was ripped from his chest. He’s panting, breaths coming heavy and quick. His hands have abandoned the keyboard and mouse, now finding their way to grip at your hips, holding you down in fear that you’ll rip yourself away again.

“Aren’t you going to respawn?” Your voice pulls him from his daze. His eyes find the screen where his character has gotten killed. His hands are shaking as they reach for the keys again, hesitant to leave their perch, but you don’t seem to be going anywhere this time around. In fact, you’re painfully still. Not a single wiggle to heighten the stimulation. He’s unsure if cockwarming at this point feels like heaven or hell but he’ll take whatever he’s given.

He’s careful moving his Widowmaker across the map, skillfully dodging the attacks that come his way with his grappling hook, getting out of the way to take shots from above. There’s a tension in his gut. There’s a knot of stress settling in his throat as he takes aim at each opponent that crosses his path.

He’s so close to victory. Everything feels tight. Tighter? It dawns on him that you’re clenching. Your walls are pulsing around his dick in a manic rhythm, intent on making him lose both the game and his mind all at once. There’s sweat beading at his forehead from the effort it takes not to thrust up into you. His eyes are closing in a wince, the screen is getting blurry.

DEFEAT

A loud groan rips itself from deep within his chest. He can’t do this anymore. You win, okay?! He can’t fight against your special kind of torture.

“I give up! I can’t, please. Fuck! Please, let me come.”

“Tsk, you were so close.” He knows, trust him, he’s been close this whole time. “I guess I can give you a reward for jumping through the obstacles but you have to ask for it properly. Go on, ask for what you want nicely.” He’s been begging all evening, sweet little pleas falling from his lips at every moment. What more could you want from him? He thinks about your history together and it falls into place.

“Mercy. Have Mercy , please.”

“Good boy,” you acquiesce. You finally start moving, pumping yourself up and down at a maddeningly slow pace.

“More, need more- Faster, I’m begging!” There’s no thought behind his words, all imploring whines and requests of benevolence which you grant.

Your spine straightens up to stand tall on top of him, continuing backwards with a hand behind you on his knee to hold your weight. The other gripping at his shoulder for leverage. Your tits hypnotize him, moving in spellbinding circles right in his face from the force at which you bounce on his lap.

Your new angle allows him to reach between you to grab handfuls of your breasts. He’s itching to get at you through your clothes. He’s not sure if he’s unclasped the buttons or simply ripped them off your blouse but it’s out of the way and that’s all that matters. His hands glide up to your shoulders to slip the straps of your bra down to the crook of your arms, bringing the padding down with them to reveal his prize.

Your nipples are stiff peaks as they come into contact with the air conditioned room. Tattooed fingers come to wrap around them, squeezing and pulling. He hears your breath hitch and it registers that this is the first pleasurable noise he’s heard from you. It’s barely audible but there’s a moan coming out of your mouth, a moan that’s Jungkook’s doing. The thought sends a wave of heat through his body and he decides that his only mission now is to pull out more of them.

His head dips forward and takes one nipple between his lips. He’s gentle in his licks and suckles but the soft sighs you let out aren’t fulfilling his desires to have you fall apart. He slips the tip of it between his teeth and bites down with a gradual pressure until he can feel moan vibrate through your whole chest. Of course, if you can deal out the pain you’re sure to be able to handle it when it’s twisted back at you.

He’s rougher with his grip now, sure to leave deep imprints where his fingers poke into your skin, teeth leaving marks as he switches from one breast to the other, making sure to even out his attention. Just when he thinks he’s finally on the same playing field, you make sure to remind him that you’re in completely different leagues.

He’d forgotten all about the evil little remote that you had in your hand earlier but it must have made its way back into your hold because the vibrations are back, strong and insistent. He’s sure there’ll be bruises left where the pads of his fingers dig into you. Eyes closed, eyebrows furrowed, head leaving your chest to be thrown backwards, a scream piercing through him.

“Gonna come! Oh god, please. I can’t hold it anymore. Have to come, please-” His words are slurring together, nonsensical in his begging. The hand that was holding onto his shoulder drags across to settle at the base of his throat. Your fingers mirror his strength and squeeze at each side, effectively cutting off his moan and his air supply. The fear that everything stops again is forgotten when he feels his world shatter. His balls tighten and the knot in his abdomen breaks when his orgasm finally hits. He can feel himself pulsing inside you, painting your walls.

The pulsing doesn’t end even after he’s emptied himself out. He can feel how tightly he’s wrapped around the plug which is still buzzing away relentlessly inside him. Mixed with the fact you haven’t faltered in your tempo, cruel as you continue the quick up and down on his oversensitive cock.

“Oh fuck- Stop. Ah! Hurts!” He’s trying to slow you down, hands on your hips but you’re stronger than you look and his muscles are slack, still recovering from his climax.

“Stop? Silly little baby. I haven’t come yet, why would I stop? You’ll be good and make me come, right? I’ll turn it off once you do.” He’s glad your legs haven’t grown tired because he couldn’t match your cadence if he tried. His hips are twitching up at random, little jolts piercing through him.

He regains control of his hands, bringing one down to where your bodies meet. He can see the creamy white evidence of his release slipping out to smear down his cock, leaking onto his balls every time you bring yourself up only to thrust back down harshly. The sweet melody of skin slapping against each other is mixed with lewd wet sounds when your ass meets his thighs at every smack.

He files away the view of his tattoos covered in the shine of your mixed juices for later. He hopes he remembers every detail of how you look on top of him, hair mussed, mouth opened, little noises flowing out of your saccharine lips. His thumb finds your clit and he focuses on keeping the pattern of tight little circles around the nub. Constant repetition is the key.

He’s silently urging you to reach your peak. There’s little tears stinging at the corner of his eyes, the oversensitivity really settling itself into every cell of his body. He’d usually order his partner to come for him, calling their orgasm to spill over but he’s terrified that it’d be misconstrued as an order and you’d hold off simply out of spite.

He’s just about to start openly sobbing when he feels you tense up. Your legs have a slight shake to them and he assumes he’s being sent to an early grave with the pressure with which you’re choking his cock. He swears he comes again, weak spurts somehow being squeezed out of him.

The vibrations stop as suddenly as they started and his body goes slack. He almost misses catching your back when your own grows weak over him. He guides you back onto his chest, letting you lean into him for both of you to catch your breaths.

You’re first to recover, bringing your head up to face him, your hands coming to cradle under his jaw. Your eyes burn into his, the moment heavy. His voice croaks as he breaks the silence.

“Was I good?” His voice sounds small, insecure and scared. Everyone knows him as a confident man, full of bravado and a reckless love for danger but you manage to turn everything he thinks he knows about himself on a dime.

It’s the first time he sees a genuine smile grace your face without any of the, admittedly sexy, malice that it’s usually stained with. You’re soft against his lips. Your touch is cautious, letting him melt into the kiss. It’s tinged with an aftertaste of care.

“Yes, sweet prince, you were good. You do need more practice though.”

_______________

Masterlist || Have Mercy (on me)

#ficscafe #jeon jungkook #jungkook #jk #jungkook x reader #jk x reader #jungkook smut #jk smut #bts smut #jungkook fic #jk fic #jungkook fanfic #jk fanfic #sub!jk #sub jk #jungkook x you #jk x you #sub jungkook #sub!jungkook

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smytherines · 29 days

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do you have any hcs for precanon curtwen? how they got together, what they were like etc

Oh for sure I do!

I think they were probably paired up together for missions over the span of a couple of years, and had all this romantic & sexual tension that they convinced themselves was all in their heads, before they actually got together. They had long enough to build a friendship, a partnership, and they're both afraid enough of the consequences (both personally and professionally) that they don't want to even consider making a move.

I always imagine it as something goes wrong on a mission, someone gets hurt, or maybe they have a spectacular success and are high on adrenaline, and Curt impulsively kisses Owen because hey, this guy is attractive and Curt has a crush. Owen is just kinda stunned by it, and Curt pulls away like "oh shit he's gonna kill me," but really Owen has been infatuated with Curt for ages and just assumed Curt wasn't interested.

I could see Owen having an inkling that Curt is into men, but assuming that if someone as cocky and confident as Curt hasn't made a move, it must mean he isn't interested. So Owen has just been pathetically pining for him. I think Curt has been pining too, but because he just kind of assumes in that young closeted queer way that nobody else is "sick" like him, that confiding in anyone will get him in trouble. And in my headcanon, Owen is bisexual, so perhaps he's had affairs with women and Curt assumes that means he isn't interested in men.

Anyways, I love thinking about them in a relationship, even though it breaks my heart. Because realistically Curt and Owen probably only saw each other a handful of times per year, so everything they manage to build together is based on these little stolen moments. I think they start casually hooking up, killing time on missions, but it very quickly becomes something more. It almost has to. You don't get a lot of time to date as a spy, and even less as a gay spy. So even just the act of repeatedly hooking up by default sorta makes them the most important relationship in each other's lives- especially because they were such good friends first.

I personally don't think pre-fall curtwen were as toxic as a lot of people think. I don't really see any evidence of that in A1P1. I mean they both seem to be little freaks who get off on danger and violence, and I'm sure constant distance and secrecy and danger took their toll, but for me A1P1 shows two men who love and respect each other, even if they bicker and mess with each other.

One thought I keep coming back to is that they sneak off for movie dates, mostly because I love classic films and get really into imagining them reacting to the many gay subtext films of the early 50s. I think they sit in the darkest part of the theater and only their legs are touching, and maybe if there's nobody there one of them will put his hand on the other's thigh and it's almost a real date.

I think they'll go to bars- not underground gay bars specifically, but bars where a lot of queer people just happen to congregate, and sit at a booth or a table, and drink together and find little ways to be discreetly affectionate.

I think Curt thinks it's adorable that Owen is a kind of a nerd, and tries his best to pay attention when Owen goes on a ramble or a rant about boring tech stuff (but gets bored and starts trying to make out with him instead). I think Owen is fascinated with how Curt's mind works, how he's seemingly so chaotic and disorganized, but in a crisis he is absolutely cool and calm and comes up with clever, creative solutions for problems.

I think they loved each other, they knew each other so well that one could barely finish a sentence before the other picked it up. I think they were a bit codependent, and the distance started to gnaw away at them towards the end, but they were each other's favorite person in the world. They trusted each other more than anyone else on Earth. They missed each other desperately, but tried their best to put on a brave face every time they had to part. I think they sent each other coded love notes and presents and found excuses to request each other on missions. I think some of their pillow talk included imagining little scenarios where they could run off together and never have to be apart again, and it starts as a fun thing but gradually gets sadder and sadder for them as they realize how impossible that would be.

(That's all I have time for right now but I might pick this back up later)

#spies are forever #tin can bros #curtwen #owen carvour #agent curt mega #saf #tcb

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tismrot · 6 months

Text

ARE YOU A CROWLEY? Hello, how are ya? Let’s be friends.

I, too, started out as a loud, emotional child who was into ✨SPACE✨. I’d ask questions wherever I went - some adults found it endearing that a four-year-old asked the types of why’s they didn’t have answers for, others asked me to shut up, be quiet. I realize as an adult I asked a lot of uncomfortable questions, having no idea i shouldn’t.

Home life was turbulent. My dad had the same issues as me, probably, but his generation never talks about anything, and he became an unpredictable, emotionally distant and sometimes explosive presence. The words he used to call me still hurt, way more so than any bruise he left. Mom smoked cigarettes in the kitchen, reading difficult books instead of daring to look at the difficult lives we all had. It was the 90s, after all. Nobody ever did anything about problems.

I should have been sent to some sort of screening, of course. But I was a girl, and hyperlexic. Diagnoses were for boys who couldn’t spell their own names, who threw chairs at teachers and brought knives to school.

My anger issues and social naivety, as well as unconventional intensity of interests, alienated me from my peers. I usually played alone, even though I was extremely extroverted. I was bullied relentlessly until I moved away for high school. There, I was only shut out, I didn’t have anyone yell things after me anymore. It was a freedom.

All my friends, from early childhood until now, have been the other misfit freaks. Some of us were extremely damaged, but all of us had baggage. I’m only friends with a few of them still, we all had dramatic lives and quite many of them are now dead, in self-imposed isolation or have managed to turn their lives completely around (which means they cut out me). Self-imposed isolation became my way of dealing with my past, and I’ve cut out a lot of people. I don’t judge anyone for deciding I wasn’t the friend they needed. I’ve done dumb things, I’ve made bad choices.

I was extremely extroverted, happy (despite the anger), motivated and creative. After family, school and life happened, I became a socially paranoid, bitter, arrogant mess. I said I hated people - the truth was that I suspected they all hated me. I self-medicated with (almost) everything I could get my hands on (but I preferred stimulants), until I got stimulant prescription medications - I’ve stopped doing everything else and life is very predictable. I’m healthy and reliable, I can talk about weather with strangers on bus stops, I don’t always say the weirdest thing one could say in any given situation (and realize only two days later). I work out to stabilize my hEDS (the connective tissue disorder that made me walk funny, sit funny, move in strange ways, made everything hurt all the time), I read up on traumatic family dynamics.

Would be boring if I didn’t still vividly remember where I’ve been before.

So. Seeing Crowley on screen actually DID something to me. I know, fatal brainrot, but I see myself in him. Whatever he does in the show, I get it. I see parallels to my personality, my neurodivergencies and my trauma. It feels affirming and I feel represented in a way I didn’t know I needed. I mean, it’s almost uncanny/silly - I, too, wear only black, have a thing for snake themed jewelry (for years, not related to Good Omens at all) and I almost always wear sunglasses (light sensitivity). It’s dumb, almost, but it’s true. I dressed up as him recently and only had to buy the lenses - all the rest, including the sleeveless turtleneck body, was already in my closet.

(Oh, and ✨Flex Time✨, kids absolutely dig me. They climb on me and tell me beautiful and horrendous things from their lives without apprehension, and adults often don’t like that. I talk to them like I’m a kid myself, I don’t try to be above them. I work with kids now, and the other adults always send me the stink eye, but the kids apparently need to talk and I hope I’m making a positive impact in their lives.)

And the best part? Via Tumblr I’ve learned that my experience isn’t unique. So many of us see ourselves in Crowley, for these exact reasons. I love that about us!

So. Are you a Crowley? Let me know. Add me. Let’s be a group of the all of us.

(GIF: Accurate depiction of me watching Crowley In The Beginning, him not understanding how questions could be dangerous - then remembering how many teachers absolutely hated my precocious, arrogant, eight-year-old ass for always raising my hand to ask something that would reveal how little the teacher actually knew, and I had no idea that was what was happening until I tried to be a teacher myself and actually ENJOYED having kids ask me weird questions).

#crowley #good omens fandom #ineffable husbands #aziraphale x crowley #good omens 2 #crowley x aziraphale #ineffable spouses #innefable husbands #ineffable divorce #crowley edits #female crowley #crowley brainrot #good omens brainrot #audhd problems #actually audhd #aj crowley #crowley good omens #anthony j crowley

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chicgeekgirl89 · 5 months

Text

Festive Friends- Read on AO3

Rating: T

Words: 8600

This one is for @strandnreyes as part of the @tarlos-santa 2023 exchange! I chose the prompt: AU - Carlos and TK unknowingly have each other for the office secret santa exchange. Up to you if they’re pining idiots, “enemies”, secretly dating, or anything else! Hope you enjoy and have the most festive of holidays!

“Good morning Mr. Reyes.”

Carlos looks up to find the office intern, Mateo, standing cheerily next to his desk, a stack of envelopes in his hand. “Good morning Mateo. And again, you can call me Carlos. Mr. Reyes really isn’t necessary.”

“Sorry Mr. Reyes, I’m just not really used to being like, a real adult yet I guess,” Mateo says sheepishly.

Carlos keeps a chuckle to himself and doesn’t admonish the kid again. “I understand. Whatever you feel comfortable with is fine.”

“Cool. Thanks Mr. Reyes. I brought your mail over for you.”

“Thank you,” Carlos says, accepting the stack from him.

“Can I get you anything? A coffee? Oh! I think Mr. Strand has some new kind of energizing smoothie or something in the break room. Although, it looked kinda gross to me,” Mateo says.

The thought of that smoothie sends a shiver down Carlos’ spine. He hasn’t known Owen Strand for very long, but his health nut tendencies have quickly become too much for Carlos’ taste. “No, that’s okay. I don’t need anything right now. Besides, your job here is to learn about the business, not fetch everyone’s coffee.”

“Right. Yes. Learning. I love learning all the things. Hey, are you coming to the office tree lighting on Friday afternoon? I heard they’re gonna have those little pigs in a blanket.”

Carlos’ eyes dart back to his screen and the half finished email staring at him. “Um, yeah. I’ll be there for a little bit.”

“Awesome!” Mateo seems genuinely thrilled and Carlos once again has to bite back an amused smile. The kid is ninety nine parts enthusiasm and one part overly helpful. “Well I’ll let you get back to it. Lots of…what exactly does HR do?”

“Emails,” Carlos says. “Lots of emails.”

“Right. Sounds fun. Good luck with that!”

Mateo sends him a parting wave and then disappears around the side of his cubicle.

Things have been absolutely crazy at PD and Sons since they merged with 126 Designs a few months ago. Owen Strand had been brought in to manage the merger and insisted on hiring a significant number of new staff. Onboarding the new hires like Mateo has been a ton of work, especially since Owen insisted on being extremely involved in the entire process. Carlos has been in non-stop meetings for weeks and today is the first day he hasn’t felt completely overwhelmed in forever.

He flips through the stack of mail, tossing a few random flyers in the recycling, and setting aside the important envelopes to open later. He wrinkles his forehead when he finds a folded up piece of red paper at the bottom of the stack. When he opens it his eyes immediately widen in horror.

What. The. Hell?

“Lexi.” He stands up and looks down into the cubicle next to him where his work wife is busy with some kind of design project. “Why did I just get a paper telling me who my Secret Santa is this year?”

“I signed you up because I knew you wouldn’t do it otherwise. It’s the season of giving and part of that means giving up your Grinchy ways and pretending like you’re interested in getting to know all the new people in the office,” Lexi says without looking up at him.

His jaw drops. “Okay, first of all, I’m not uninterested in getting to know them. I just haven’t had time to get to know them. And secondly, I hate Secret Santa. Nobody ever really knows what to get you, so you end up with all this random crap and candy that you don’t want and it all sits in a drawer for three or four years until finally you throw it out.”

She finally stops and turns to look at him. “Wow. Okay Uncle Scrooge. First of all,” she echoes him, “it’s not Secret Santa, it’s Festive Friends. Not everybody celebrates Christmas. Get your terminology right. And secondly, it’s not about getting good gifts, it’s about spreading joy for the holiday season. So take the Christmas tree out of your ass and start fa la la-ing with the rest of us.”

“Lexi,” he grinds out her name between his teeth and quickly glances around to make sure no one is in earshot. “I got T.K.”

Lexi is the only one in the office who knows what an incredible disaster meeting T.K. Strand has been for his life. A week after the PD Austin and 126 Designs merger the entire office had gone out for drinks. One thing led to another, which led to another, and ultimately ended up with T.K. very naked in Carlos’ bed.

They’d been incredibly hot and incredibly heavy for a couple weeks after that, sneaking around together, making out in the supply closet, booty calling each other in the dead of night, and Carlos had been so ridiculously happy. T.K. Strand had turned him into a horny freaking teenager.

And then he’d made the mistake of surprising T.K. with dinner. He’d thought it would be romantic. That it might move them from booty call status into something a little bit more permanent.

But T.K. had freaked out, stormed out, and shut Carlos out of his life. Thank god his cubicle is all the way around the corner on the other side of the building. They barely have to see each other except for the occasional awkward brush in the break room or men’s room.

Carlos’ heart has been more broken than he’d like to let on, not to mention his ego is bruised too. The whole thing has made getting to know the other people from 126 Designs like Marjan, Paul, Nancy, and Judd very awkward.. They’re T.K.’s friends. And he doesn’t want to piss T.K. off anymore than he already has.

Of course he has to interact with T.K.’s father, Owen Strand, he is the manager after all, but other than that he’s kept everyone else at an extremely polite and professional distance.

So finding T.K.’s name in his hands is like a punch in the gut.

“Good,” Lexi says, surprising him. “You’ve been pining for him for weeks anyway. Might as well do something about it.”

“Lexi, this guy hates my guts,” Carlos says. “He doesn’t want presents from me.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t hate you. You’re Carlos Reyes. No one hates you.”

“Please switch with me.”

“No.”

“Lexi!”

“No! I got Paul. I already have ideas. I’m not switching. It’s only three gifts, you’ll be fine.”

“Three?! I thought Secret Santa was only one gift!”

“God, do you even read your email? It’s three gifts in the week leading up to the holiday break. This will be good for you. Now go away. I’m working.”

Carlos sinks back down into his chair, misery settling in his stomach. This is going to be absolute torture.

He takes another look at T.K.’s scrawl. His writing looks hurried in a way that suggests he’s so excited that he can’t be bothered to slow down and shape his letters more carefully. It has that same kind of frenetic, joyful energy that drew Carlos to him in the first place. Now the only energy he exudes toward Carlos is coldness.

Carlos catches himself tracing his fingers over the letters of T.K.’s name and balls them into a fist before forcing himself to read T.K.’s answers to the Festive Friends questionnaire. T.K. has written down that he likes sour candy, Harry Styles, boba, and interesting tea flavors. He doesn’t like black licorice, the Mets, or anything with alcohol.

Carlos frowns at that. He doesn’t remember T.K. mentioning anything about alcohol during their weeks together. But then again, they didn’t exactly spend much time talking. Their mouths had been occupied with other things.

It feels unfair to have this scrap of T.K., to get this little glimpse into his life. These are things he doesn’t want Carlos to know. He made that clear when he stormed out the door of Carlos’ condo and left nothing behind except Carlos’ fractured heart.

He takes a breath and squares his shoulders. It’s just a stupid office tradition. They’re colleagues. They’re going to have to become cordial at some point. Maybe this is how he can start to smooth things over. Besides, it’s not like he has to talk to the guy. That’s literally the point. To keep it secret.

This is going to be fine.

It is not fine. It’s not fine because Carlos is the type of person that agonizes over gifts. And in this case, there’s even more pressure because the gifts have to be perfectly impersonal so they don’t say, “Your dick was life changing and I don’t think I’m ever going to recover because now you hate me and I don’t really know why.” He’d much rather they say, “I’m fine and I don’t ever think about you and that thing you did with your tongue that one time.”

Ugh.

He arrives Monday morning the week before Christmas with a gift bag in hand, a Yankees baseball cap tucked inside. It’s a lame gift. Perfectly impersonal. And the rest of his gifts for the week aren’t much better. There’s a small part of him berating himself for not doing a better job. He could at least try. The guy broke up with him, he didn’t murder anyone.

But then he remembers how miserable he was in the days after T.K. had stormed out. Whatever. He didn’t sign up for this anyway. T.K. deserves his boring gifts.

The office is quiet as he makes his way to T.K.’s cubicle. Even just the sight of his desk makes Carlos’ heart ache a little. There’s a picture pinned to his bulletin board of T.K. with their other co-workers, Marjan, Paul, Judd, Mateo, Nancy, and Tommy all smiling and having fun, clearly out for a night on the town together. He’d known 126Designs was small and that was part of the reason for the acquisition; to bring on a tightly knit team to help their own, but seeing T.K. so happy with them all doesn’t really feel great.

He’s been so preoccupied by his own shopping that he completely forgot that he is also getting gifts until he steps into his cubicle and sees a bright green bag with little white Christmas trees all over it. He inspects it carefully, relieved to find there’s no glitter anywhere.

He hates glitter.

There’s a little card attached to the handle and when he opens it it reads “Hope you have a Write Christmas- FF.” It takes him a second to figure out that FF must mean Festive Friend.

He carefully extracts the tissue paper and looks into the bag. It’s office supplies. Pens, post-its, a new stapler, blue paperclips, and a ball of rubber bands.

The pun on the card makes sense, even if it is as terribly lame as the gifts inside. At least it’s practical. He can always use new pens.

“Hey!” Lexi pokes her head in. “Ooh what’d you get?”

He shows her the bag and she nods in approval. “Your Festive Friend knows you like office supplies. Nice.”

“If you’re expecting a thank you for going behind my back on this, you’re going to be waiting a long time,” Carlos tells her as he sits down and opens up his laptop.

“Pretty sure people with that attitude get coal in their stocking,” she tells him, flipping him off before heading to her own cubicle.

It’s midway through the morning and Carlos is about to make yet another phone call when Owen Strand steps into the middle of the bullpen. “All right, attention everyone!” he calls.

The ambient sound of typing and low chatter ceases. “Thank you,” he says. “I just wanted to remind everyone that we have our first team building activity this afternoon. So if you have anything scheduled this is your last chance to rearrange. Mandatory fun is in store for all!”

Carlos bites back a groan. He is really not into mandatory office fun. Especially when it means he’ll be in close proximity to T.K. But he’s also not one to flaunt the rules, so he’s going to have to suck it up and deal.

No one has been allowed in the conference room all morning and when one o’clock rolls around Owen waits at the door with a massive grin on his face. The man is clearly thrilled with whatever he’s cooked up to torture them today.

When Carlos walks through the door he sees why. The tables have been covered in red plastic tablecloths and every two feet or so sits a pile of materials like graham crackers, marshmallows, frosting, and candy. It’s immediately obvious how they will be team building today.

“All right everyone!” Owen says when they’re all assembled. “As you can probably guess our team building activity for today has taken a turn for the festive. And I’ve taken the liberty of assigning you all a partner to work with. Each team will be assembling a pre-determined part of our gingerbread village. Paul, you’re with Marjan.”

They immediately turn and high five, clearly thrilled.

“Nancy with Lexi, Judd with Tommy, Mateo with me,” Owen flashes him a smile and Mateo lets out a whoop.

Carlos’ stomach drops. That leaves him with—“T.K., you’ll be with Carlos.”

Fuck.

“Send one person to grab your pre-assigned building assignment! Remember this is not a competition. We’re all working together to build our village. Just like it takes a village to run a company.”

There’s a brief silence in which everyone internalizes what a dumb, schticky thing Owen has just said and then he claps his hands. “Okay, get to work!”

Everyone claims a spot around the tables. Carlos takes a paper slip from Owen and then looks around to find T.K., who is sitting across the room with his back to Carlos.

Carlos reluctantly walks over and sits in the empty seat next to him, all the while wondering if he can fake sick or claim a family emergency to get out of this. When he finally looks up at his partner he recoils in shock. T.K.’s lip is split and swollen, and there’s a dark ring of bruising underneath his right eye. “What happened to you?” Carlos asks, a surprised reflex releasing the words from his mouth before he can stop them.

The look T.K. sends him immediately reminds him that they’re not friends anymore. It’s full of vitriol and misery and…Carlos looks a little closer. Pain. There’s a rawness there that Carlos doesn’t remember seeing before.

“Sorry,” he says. “I just…that looks like it hurts.”

“Doesn’t feel great,” T.K. agrees, his voice stiff. “What are we supposed to be making?”

Carlos looks at the paper. “Police station.”

“Perfect. Way to read the room Dad. ACAB and all that,” T.K. grouses as he reaches for a pile of graham crackers and immediately begins squeezing icing all over.

“Um,” Carlos hems and T.K. stops.

“What?”

“Don’t you think maybe we should make a plan first?”

T.K. sighs and dramatically drops his piping bag onto the table. “Fine. Do whatever you want.”

“No I—I didn’t mean—” Carlos struggles to find the right words. “It’s fine. Let’s just try and get something standing first. That’s the hardest part anyway.”

They spend a couple minutes in silence gluing graham crackers together with icing and using some marshmallows to prop them up until they have something that roughly resembles walls and a roof. “You’re kind of good at this,” T.K. says.

It’s the closest thing to niceties that they’ve shared in weeks.

“I have a lot of nieces and nephews. Not my first gingerbread house. Although it is my first police station,” Carlos admits.

“Cool,” T.K. says, then winces, his lip clearly hurting.

“You sure you don’t want to tell me what happened?” Carlos asks, feeling a little emboldened by T.K.’s compliment.

T.K. shoots him a glare. “You’re kind of annoying. You know that?”

“So I’ve been told,” Carlos says, trying to let the jab roll off his back. “But I know you’re new around here and you’ve obviously gotten into some trouble. Sometimes it helps to talk things out.”

He gets silence in return. God what the hell is wrong with this guy? He’s literally just trying to help. “Fine. You don’t have to tell me. But you should probably tell someone before whoever gave you that shiner comes back to give you a matching set.”

T.K. goes quiet, fiddling with the icing bag in his hand. When he speaks his voice is soft.“I went to a bar last night.”

“Ah. A little drunk and disorderly,” Carlos says, aware that he’s being snarky and not caring in the least. “So you have an idea of how the inside of this police station should look then.”

“I wasn’t drunk,” T.K. says quickly and Carlos remembers his Festive Friends answers. He looks down. “I just went through a really bad break up. Like nuclear bad. And then I relapsed.” He looks around and lowers his voice. “I relapsed with substances.”

Oh.

Carlos sets down the graham cracker in his hands, his full attention now on T.K. as memory slices through him. “I tried to pour us champagne during dinner. I’m such an idiot I’m sorry—“

“It’s fine, ” T.K. cuts him off quickly, like if he gets interrupted now he won’t ever be able to find the strength to share this again. He fiddles with the peppermint wrapper in his hands. “Ever since I’ve gotten here it’s just…it’s grey. And I just feel numb all the time. So I went out to a bar looking for trouble. And I found it. Big time. I guess I just…I wanted to feel something.”

He’s pulled in on himself, his body looking vulnerable and wounded. Carlos gets it now. The overenthusiastic sex. His no-strings attached mentality. The complete meltdown during dinner. This is a man who has been hurt, and he’s struggling to find a way to heal. Carlos had unknowingly probed at the wound in his soul and T.K. had lashed out. It makes sense, even if it wasn’t fair.

T.K. looks miserable and despite their history all Carlos wants to do is make him feel better. “Judging by that lip, I’d say mission accomplished,” he says, trying to lighten the moment.

“You’re really busting my balls right now?” T.K. asks, an unreadable expression on his face.

“No,” Carlos says. “I’m busting your jingle bells.” He tries and fails to hold back a smile at his incredibly stupid joke.

T.K. blinks at him. “That’s terrible,” he says, but he is also struggling to keep his face neutral.

“And yet you’re smiling,” Carlos says. He feels lighter, like there’s been an ominous blizzard hanging over him in the weeks since they stopped seeing each other. Now it feels like the snow has finally started to fall and all the ugliness of the bare world in winter is being covered in a fresh layer of soft white powder. There’s a sense of hope to it.

“I’m laughing at how stupid it is,” T.K. says.

“Well laugh while you work,” Carlos says, reaching for a bar of Hershey’s chocolate to put on the roof. “I know your dad said it wasn’t a competition, but Marjan and Paul seem to be working on a second story. So I’m not sure they know that.”

Together they finish the roof, adding on lots of dripping icing as snow and icicles. Carlos carefully starts to add windows while T.K. works on the landscaping.

“Tommy I don’t know why you’re trying to make me do these little details when you know I’ve got fat fingers,” Judd is saying across the way as he and Tommy try to add a steeple to their church.

Marjan and Paul’s apartment building does indeed have two stories and they’ve somehow managed to chisel out actual windows in the graham crackers. Lexi and Nancy are creating a ski chalet that includes a chairlift, and Owen and Mateo’s fire station sports a fire pole made of pretzel rods.

“There,” T.K. says, plonking a creation down in front of where Carlos has crafted a front door out of Kit Kats.

Carlos raises an eyebrow. “What is that?”

“A snowman.”

Ah. Now Carlos sees it. There are two marshmallows stacked on top of each other and T.K. has shoved pretzel sticks in each side for arms. There is a lifesaver on each one and they’re connected by a thread of Twizzler. “What’s on its arms?” he asks.

“Handcuffs,” T.K. says.

“The snowman is getting arrested?”

“Or getting ready to do something kinky.”

“In front of a police station?”

“Some people get off on a little exhibitionism. Don’t judge Carlos,” T.K. says, a smirk on his face.

Damn it. They should have stayed mortal enemies. Now that they’re talking again, Carlos feels the urge to drag T.K. into the nearest cubicle and kiss the shit out of him. He didn’t need to go to a bar to find trouble. He could have shown up on Carlos’ doorstep and gotten into plenty.

Carlos’ attempt at a police cruiser has them both laughing; the oreo wheels keep falling off the rice krispie body (which T.K. snuck out and stole from the break room and has loudly been declared illegal by half the staff in the room) no matter how much icing he uses to try and stick them on.

“Stop eating our building materials,” Carlos admonishes a few minutes later when he goes for another red gum drop and finds they’re nearly gone.

“Why? They’re delicious. Tis the season for sugar,” T.K. says.

Carlos goes to give him a look and notices a dab of frosting on the corner of his mouth. “You’ve got some—“ He mimes brushing it away.

T.K. grabs a tissue and wipes, but misses completely. “No other side,” Carlos directs without success. “Here just, let me.”

He swipes the tissue from T.K.’s hand and dabs carefully, taking care not to pull on T.K.’s split lip. Their eyes meet and a heat passes between them, setting Carlos’ bones on fire. He clears his throat. “Got it.”

“Thanks,” T.K. says quietly.

They spend another half hour decorating before Owen makes them put all the buildings together into a little town while he snaps a picture for the company social media accounts. It’s actually pretty adorable once assembled and Carlos goes home that night strangely optimistic about what the rest of the week has in store.

Tuesday is business as usual and by the time Wednesday morning rolls around Carlos finds himself excitedly driving into work, his gift for T.K. in the passenger seat. He’s scrapped all his other gifts and spent the last two days looking for better items. Last night he visited a local tea shop and probably went a little overboard. They’d definitely upsold him on a few things and he’d let it happen because Monday’s gingerbread decorating had put a kernel of hope in his chest and…it can’t hurt to make sure T.K. likes his gifts, right?

He drops off T.K.’s gift bag and is only mildly disappointed when he walks into his own cubicle to find his desk is empty. It doesn’t matter; at least, that’s what he tells himself. Honestly, he’s not surprised. People are terrible at doing Secret Santa, it’s very likely that his person has forgotten him in the hustle and bustle of the holiday season.

He heads to his desk and gets right to work because they’re all heading out early to help with a toy drive at the local fire station; another of Owen’s brilliant ideas to encourage office camaraderie. It means he has a lot more to take care of than usual to try and make up for the lost time, and by mid-morning he’s in desperate need of a second coffee.

He’s about to get up and make one when his phone rings. It’s Ernie, their security guard from downstairs informing him that there’s a delivery waiting for him. Confused but intrigued Carlos heads for the elevator.

“Hey Ernie, all set for the holidays?” he asks when he reaches the desk on the ground floor.

“Just about. Got a couple more things to pick up today, but then I should be good to go,” Ernie tells him. He nods toward a bag and a coffee cup on the desk. “That’s for you.”

“Thanks.”

Carlos picks up the white paper sack and has to hold back a snort when he sees what’s written on the side. Hope the holidays don’t make you “cronuts”- FF. He peeks inside and inhales the scent of cronuts from Twiggy’s. Cronuts are a massive weakness of his, and a sip of the coffee tells him it’s made just to his specifications, a little bit of cream, no sugar. Whoever his Festive Friend is, they know him well. His suspicions are definitely leaning more and more toward Lexi.

He gets back in the elevator and when he steps off he nearly runs over T.K. “Whoa, sorry,” he says, holding up the coffee so it doesn’t spill all over T.K.’s chest.

“Lunch?” T.K. asks, nodding toward the bag.

“A snack from my ‘Festive Friend,’” he says. “Cronuts from the Twiggy’s.”

“That place is great. Enjoy,” T.K. says.

“Do you want one?” The words are out of his mouth before he can stop himself. God he’s needy. “I um, I got two and I can’t eat both. They’re really only good fresh, it’s not like I can save one—“

“Sure.” T.K. thankfully interrupts his ramble and the affirmative response sends a jolt of electricity through him.

They step into the break room and T.K. boils some hot water for tea before settling down across from Carlos at one of the high top tables, a kitschy little vase of fake flowers between them.

Carlos pulls out the cronuts and puts each one on a paper plate. They’re decorated for the season as little Santa bellies, and hopefully they’re as delicious as he remembers. He slides one toward T.K. before picking up his own and taking a massive bite. He has to hold back a groan. They’re freaking amazing.

When he looks up he finds T.K. staring at him with an amused smirk on his face. “Sorry,” Carlos says, feeling his cheeks heat. “I um, these are my favorite.”

“So I can see,” T.K. says, the smirk widening a little. “The last time I saw that look we were both way more naked.”

Carlos feels his entire face go red at the reminder. He finishes chewing his bite, trying not to let memories of said naked time take over his brain. “So your dad,” he says. “He’s really into the holidays huh? We’ve never had so many festive office events.”

“Yeah my dad doesn’t really do anything by half measures,” T.K. says. “I think he might be overcompensating on the holiday cheer a little bit this year. The move down here was kind of a lot and I haven’t exactly been a bundle of joy lately, so he’s trying to fix it with cocoa and faux Christmas wreaths.”

Carlos takes another bite and thinks carefully about his next move. This new dynamic between them still feels tenuous, and he doesn’t want to fracture it. But at the same time, he can see the unfiltered hurt in T.K.’s eyes and he longs to help bear the weight of it. “You mentioned a breakup the other day,” he says quietly. “Is that part of why you came?”

T.K. blows out a breath and looks down at his cronut. “It’s the whole reason we came.”

Carlos watches as he wrestles internally and he’s just about to say that T.K. doesn’t have to tell him anything, when T.K. starts to speak again. “I had a boyfriend, in New York. Alex. We were together for like…I don’t know, a year I guess? He was the first boyfriend I’d had since getting sober and I wanted it to work so badly. Like this relationship was proof I finally had my shit together, you know?”

Carlos nods.

“I had this plan, I was going to propose to him. Had a ring, a restaurant, the whole thing. I was basically down on one knee and he—he told me he’d been cheating on me. With his spin instructor.”

Something hot and violent shoots through Carlos. “That motherfucker,” he says, before he can stop himself.

T.K. looks up in surprise and lets out a startled laugh.

“Sorry,” Carlos says. “That’s just…wow what an asshole.”

“Yeah he definitely was,” T.K. says, looking a little more relaxed now, as if Carlos’ angered sympathy has put him more at ease. “For a long time I think. I can look back on it now and see little moments. We only ever went where he wanted to go for dinner. He was always busy when I asked him to meet my friends. There was stuff I was overlooking because I was trying to prove to everyone else that I was stable.”

“I get that,” Carlos says.

T.K. shifts a little. “I went home after that, found a bottle of pills and…took them until I couldn’t feel anymore. My dad had to bust down the door to save my life.” He shrugs. “And that’s how we ended up here. He knew I needed to get away, so he took me as far as he could get.”

He looks up at Carlos. “I’m doing better now. Well, kind of.” He indicates his black eye. “But that’s why I freaked out on you that night. It wasn’t the champagne or anything you did. You were—you were so kind to me Carlos. I just wasn’t ready for it. And I’m really sorry that I walked out on you.”

The urge to reach over and touch him, to hold his hands and soothe away the hurt that’s painted into the lines of his forehead is overwhelming. But he’s not sure T.K. would be into that so he grips his own thighs instead. “Thank you for telling me,” he says. “That all sounds really difficult. I’m sorry I ambushed you. And I’m sorry I wasn’t more understanding when I realized you were uncomfortable. I think um, I think my ego took a little bit of a hit,” he says sheepishly.

“Oh you think Mr. ‘I Know It Doesn’t Look Like a Lot of Work’?” T.K. asks with a grin.

“Hey, that fish took me like three hours to make,” Carlos teases. “You missed out.”

T.K. sobers a little and fiddles with his cronut again. “I think I missed out on a lot.”

Carlos opens his mouth to offer a response, but Lexi pokes her head into the break room. “Carlos, your phone is ringing off the hook.”

“Coming,” he says, sliding off the stool and picking up his plate with the last couple bites of cronut on it. “Are you going to the toy drive this afternoon?”

“Boss dad said be there so yeah, I’m going,” T.K. says. “Thanks for the cronut.”

“You’re welcome,” Carlos says and then hustles back to his cubicle, where his phone is indeed ringing off the hook. He shoves the last bite of cronut into his mouth as he sits down, chewing furiously before he picks up. “This is Carlos.”

An HR crisis means Carlos is the last one to leave the office and arrive at the fire station’s toy drive. He looks for T.K. as soon as he gets there, but Lexi pulls him over to a table where they’re taking donations for one of the local food pantries.

“So,” Lexi says as they fill boxes with canned beans and stuffing mix and mac and cheese, “looks like someone’s back on Carlos Reyes’ nice list. Although with the way you were looking at him, seems more like you’d prefer he stay on the naughty list.”

“Lexi!” Carlos hisses, looking around. “There are kids here!”

“Oh they can’t hear me,” she scoffs, handing him a bag of flour. “They’re all at the make-an-ornament station.”

Carlos looks over and finds T.K. hunkered down by that very table, laughing and smiling as he helps a couple kids glue pompoms and sequins to colored paper. It’s adorable and Carlos’ heart melts a little at the sight.

“See? That look right there. You’ve got it bad. You want him to jingle your ba—“

“I’m going to remind you that I’m your HR rep and you probably shouldn’t finish that sentence,” he says quickly.

“Fine.” She rolls her eyes. “But you two did look pretty cozy in the break room earlier. The great branzino war is over I take it?”

“Yeah we had a good talk,” Carlos says.

She clears her throat. “You can say thank you anytime now you know.”

He furrows his brow. “For what?”

“For making you do Festive Friends and fixing your broken heart.”

“My heart was not broken,” he scoffs.

“You have been acting like you’re in the last ten minutes of a Hallmark movie for weeks. Time to finally realize you’re in love and kiss under the mistletoe,” Lexi tells him.

“Just because we’re friendly now doesn’t mean we’re going to kiss.”

“Okay. Sure. Believe whatever you want.”

There’s a massive influx then from a church group and thankfully the matter is dropped for the rest of the night.

On Friday Carlos stops at home to change his clothes before heading to a local bar for their holiday party and the big Festive Friends reveal. He puts on a pair of dark jeans and winces when he pulls on the ugly sweater that Owen insisted they all wear. As far as they go, his is pretty tame, albeit with a bit more sparkle and pizazz than he usually goes for. It says Feliz Navidad in tinseled letters with some primary colored pom poms decorating the rest for good measure. It had been part of a family white elephant a few years ago and has sat in the back of his closet since for good reason.

He gabs the box he wrapped up for T.K. on the way out the door. It’s nearly as brightly colored as his sweater. Generally he tries for a more sedate theme in wrapped gifts, but T.K. is so vivacious and colorful that he broke into the stash of wrapping paper he usually saves for his nieces and nephews.

He’s nervous as he drives and he can’t quite put his finger on why. Is it because he wants T.K. to like his gift? Because things between him and T.K. have shifted in a more positive direction and his stupid heart can’t quite stop believing that tonight might be like that first night at the honky tonk? Is it because he feels very stupid in this sweater and he really hopes everyone else obeyed Owen’s instructions from the email invite?

Probably all of it.

Ah well. At least if things don’t go well there will be liquor around to help drown his sorrows.

There’s immediate relief when he walks in through the doors of the bar and sees holiday themed knit-ware all over. “Hey Carlos, glad you came,” Owen says, greeting him at the door in a sweater with a massive reindeer head on the front.

“Mr. Strand,” Carlos says, giving him a nod.

“Carlos we’ve been over this. You can call me Owen,” Owen says, a tinge of good natured exasperation in his tone.

“Yes, right, sorry” Carlos says, embarrassed. Didn’t he just chide Mateo for the same thing last week? Somehow this seems different. And definitely a weird way to address the man who fathered his most recent hookup.

“Go ahead and grab a drink, there’s hors d’oeuvres, I highly recommended the stuffed mushrooms, and then when the time feels right make sure you deliver your gift to your Festive Friend,” Owen says brightly. Then he leans close. “I got Judd a new belt. Italian leather, handcrafted, this thing is a masterpiece. He is gonna love it!”

“I’m sure he will,” Carlos agrees.

“Oh! Nancy! Come on in!” Owen gives Carlos a pat on the shoulder and moves past him to greet her.

Carlos says hello to Judd and his wife Grace, his eyes searching the room and finally landing on T.K. who is standing at the bar chatting with Mateo. Carlos’ heart flutters at the sight of him even as he tries to figure out what the heck is knitted on the back of his sweater. It appears to be a long, yellow tail, but that can’t possibly be right, can it? He takes a breath and then abruptly loses courage and goes to find Lexi instead. “Nice earrings,” he says when he gets to her table.

“Thanks,” she says, pushing her hair back so he can see them better. “They’re from my ‘Festive Friend’ Marjan.”

“Great,” Carlos says as he grabs a chip from a bowl on the table. “Did you give Paul your gift?”

“Yes, he is thrilled with the crime novels I got him. He hasn’t read that author yet so hopefully he likes them.” She gives him a look. “Why do you still have T.K.’s?”

“I haven’t seen him yet,” Carlos says defensively.

“You mean you saw him and you’re too chicken to go over there because you’re having feelings and don’t know what to do with them,” she says bluntly. “Are you going to ask him out when you give it to him?”

“I—I don’t know,” Carlos says. “That seems pushy.”

“You two were practically making out in that break room.”

“We were literally sitting three feet apart,” Carlos says dryly.

“Fine. You were emotionally making out.”

He wrinkles his nose. “That’s not a thing.”

“I think you should ask him. It’s Christmas. The season of miracles. And wishes. And Santa shit. This is your chance!” she says enthusiastically.

“How much have you had to drink?” he asks.

She scoffs. “This isn’t drunkeness. It’s my Christmas wish that you grow a pair and ask T.K. out.”

“That is a terrible wish,” Carlos says.

“Well it is what it is. You wouldn’t want to break a girl’s heart at Christmas would you?”

He opens his mouth to respond but Paul calls Lexi’s name and beckons her toward him. “That’s my cue,” she says, hopping off her bar stool. “Gonna go kick Paul’s ass at darts. Good luck!”

And with that she’s gone, leaving Carlos alone with his feelings and his gift box. He stares at it for a moment and gives himself a stern pep talk. It’s a gift. Not a marriage proposal. If T.K. hates it, it’s whatever.

“Hey Carlos.”

He’s waited too long. He looks up to find T.K. standing on the other side of the table, a smile on his face. Carlos can now see the front of his sweater. Some kind of lizard smiles at him, clearly the front end of the tail he spotted before. Above it are the words “Merry Crickets.” It is truly the most hideous thing he’s ever laid eyes on, but somehow T.K. makes it look adorable.

“Hey,” he replies..

Excellent. Great. He’s crushing this.

“Nice sweater,” T.K. says, taking a sip of the drink in his hand.

“Thanks. This is some party. Your dad is quite the host.”

T.K. rolls his eyes, but there’s a fondness to it. “Just be grateful I talked him out of chartering a party bus. And roller skating.”

“Your dad thought our holiday party should be at a roller rink?”

“He was going with an 80’s holiday theme at first,” T.K. says. “It took a lot of bargaining to get him down to ugly sweater instead. I think he was an event planner in a former life.”

“He definitely has a flair for it,” Carlos agrees. He looks down at the present in front of him. He should have gotten a drink before doing this. “So um, actually, I’m your Festive Friend. Surprise. This is for you.”

He slides it across the table and T.K.’s eyes immediately light up. “Can I open it now?” he asks eagerly.

He looks like a kid on Christmas morning and it’s so endearing that Carlos can barely breathe. “Yeah, yes, it’s all yours.”

T.K. pulls off the bow and rips open the paper, lifting out the soft yellow sweatshirt inside. He doesn’t say anything for a moment and Carlos feels a flutter of nerves. “It’s—“

“The sweatshirt Harry Styles wore in New York last summer,” T.K. says. His tone is almost reverent, his thumbs moving back and forth to stroke the material. “Oh my god. I have Harry Styles’ sweatshirt.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s not the exact one he wore,” Carlos says, feeling sheepish. “But I know you like him and hoodies so it seemed right.”

“It must have taken forever for you to find this,” T.K. says.

“Oh, no, it was…it was no big deal,” Carlos says, omitting the entire night he spent on instagram combing through Harry’s outfits of the last few years and trying to find them for sale.

“Thank you Carlos,” T.K. says, sincere gratitude in his voice. “This is amazing. All your gifts were amazing.”

“I mean, that hat was kind of lame,” Carlos says, still embarrassed that he bought something so generic.

“No it’s great! I’m going to wear it the next time I go to an Astros game,” T.K. says, a twinkle of mischief in his eye.

Carlos chuckles. “Yeah good luck with that.”

“Did you get your last gift yet?” T.K. asks casually.

Carlos shakes his head. “Not yet.”

“Any guesses who it might be?”

He has no idea. There’s no one in the office that knows him well enough to send him cronuts besides Lexi and he knows she had Paul. “No,” he says. “Usually I’m pretty good at figuring this kind of thing out, but everyone in the office is so new I haven’t really been able to get a read on anyone.”

“Marjan?”

“She had Lexi.”

“Paul?”

Carlos looks around until he finds him standing in a corner next to a Christmas tree, laughing at something Lexi just said. “I don’t think so. He’s from Chicago, I doubt he would know about Twiggy’s.”

“Judd?”

“Something tells me he wouldn’t know about cronuts either,” Carlos says with a laugh. “I feel like it has to be someone who knows me pretty well, but Lexi is the only one—“

His eyes land on T.K.’s face and he knows. He can see it in his eyes and he feels stupid he didn’t realize it before when T.K. used that false casual tone. “You?” he asks in surprise. “You’re my Festive Friend?”

T.K. reaches into his back pocket and pulls out an envelope. “Merry Christmas,” he says as he hands it to Carlos.

Still in a little bit of shock Carlos carefully lifts the flap on the envelope to reveal a printed out email inside. “A cooking class?” he asks, looking up to search T.K.’s eyes.

T.K. nods, a flicker of nerves flashing over his face. “It’s bruschetta, pasta, and a dessert. A husband and wife team run it out of their home. I thought, I mean you obviously know how to cook, but I thought it might be fun.”

“It sounds amazing,” Carlos says genuinely. He’s always wanted to try his hand at homemade pasta.

T.K. nods and takes a breath. “I um, I got you two tickets. You can take whoever you want, but I—“ He runs his hands nervously over his jeans. “I know I fucked things up between us, so I was hoping that maybe this could be kind of a do-over for us. If you want?”

“Yes,” Carlos says immediately. It’s embarrassingly fast and absolutely gives away how badly he wants them to try again, but he doesn’t care. “Yes I would love a do-over.”

“Yeah?” T.K. asks, his eyes full of hope.

“Yeah,” Carlos says. A smile plays on his lips and he’s about to thank T.K. for his other gifts when something occurs to him. “You little shit!” he says incredulously. “You bought me those cronuts and then sat there and ate one like you had no clue who’d given them to me!”

T.K. sends him a wicked smile. “I was counting on your holiday generosity,” he says.

“How did you even know about that bakery?” Carlos asks.

“You mentioned it,” T.K. says. “I don’t know, it was the second or third time we hooked up. I saw a flyer for them on your fridge and you told me how good they were.”

“You remember that?” Carlos asks in surprise. After their blowup he’d convinced himself that he was just a warm body for T.K. to be with, another notch in his bedpost who’d meant nothing to him.

T.K. looks at him, his face serious. “I remember all of it Carlos.”

The words make his heart swell and he hysterically wonders if this is how the Grinch felt when he heard the Who’s singing on Christmas. “I remember too,” he says. “It was incredible.”

“That first night, in the honky tonk. Best bathroom hookup of my life,” T.K. tells him.

“Only bathroom hookup of my life,” Carlos says.

“Yeah, I know,” T.K. says with a roll of his eyes.

“How could you know that?”

“Because you kept looking around like it was the most unsanitary thing you’d ever seen in your life,” T.K. tells him. “So I made it my mission to make you forget all about it. Pretty sure I succeeded.”

Carlos flushes as he thinks about T.K.’s mouth and his hands and the way they felt on his body. “You definitely did.” His gaze drops to T.K.’s lips. “God, I want to kiss you so badly right now.”

T.K. smirks, clearly please that he’s turned Carlos on in the middle of this bar. “What’s stopping you?”

“Um the fact that all of our co-workers are here. And also your dad,” Carlos says with a laugh.

As if on cue Owen’s voice rings out over the crowd. “All right everyone!” He claps his hands a couple times. “If I could have everyone’s attention please! Thank you all for coming to the 126 Designs holiday party. I have a little surprise up my sleeve. Tonight, we are going to be participating in some holiday karaoke!”

A bar employee rolls a karaoke machine in out of nowhere to cheers from the crowd. “Did you know?” Carlos asks.

“No,” T.K. says. “But I can’t say I’m surprised.”

“Get on over here!” Owen encourages them. “Judd! Let’s hear a little Deck the Halls buddy!”

“Come on.”

T.K. reaches for Carlos’ hand and pulls him toward a side door. “Wait, what about karaoke?” Carlos asks.

“Do you really want to stay here and listen to my dad attempt a version of Santa Claus is Coming to Town?”

Carlos considers this. “Actually…”

T.K. laughs and tugs him again. “Come on Reyes.”

They step outside into the night, the door closing behind them. It’s quiet and the air has a slight chill. Nothing that would even hint at a white Christmas, but enough that it feels like the holiday season instead of the dead of summer. A few stars have managed to permeate the light pollution and the moon shines brightly above them.

The side of the restaurant is lit by a single streetlamp, giving them just enough light to see each other, but also the illusion of privacy from anyone else who might be walking by. T.K. leans against the brick of the wall and tugs Carlos toward him, dropping his hand so he can grab his waist, his thumb pressing into the crease between Carlos’ thigh and his hip through his pants. “Well,” T.K. says, the cocky ass smirk on his face that shoots something hot through Carlos’ veins. “Go ahead. Kiss away.”

Carlos looks around in fake concern. “Mmm, I don’t know. Someone could still see us out here.”

“Don’t worry,” T.K. pulls a sprig of mistletoe from his pocket and dangles it over their heads. “I swiped this from inside. Now you have to kiss me. Christmas rules.”

“Oh is that right?” Carlos asks with smile, pressing in a little closer, and lifting a hand to run it through T.K.’s hair before sliding it down to cradle the back of his neck.

“Definitely,” T.K. says.

Carlos doesn’t waste another second before leaning in and fitting their lips together. The sparks inside him whirl and dance before bursting into full on flames. It feels like coming home.

T.K. opens up and invites him in, their bodies coming flush together, searching for as much contact as possible. Carlos fists one hand into T.K.’s hair, the other landing solidly on his lower back and urging him closer, while T.K.’s roam everywhere, traveling Carlos’ biceps, his chest, his back, his ass, and everything in between.

Carlos slots a thigh between T.K.’s legs, pressing into him and T.K.’s head falls back against the wall, eyes closing as he lets out something between a groan and a sigh. Carlos smiles and uses the change in position to press kisses into the sensitive spot just below his ear. “I missed you,” he says in between breaths.

“I missed you too. Am I going to have to report this to HR?” T.K. asks.

Carlos pauses and pulls back, sending T.K. a withering look. “Haha,” he says dryly. “Thanks for reminding me that I’m going to have my hands full with this one in the new year.”

“My ass is quite a handful,” T.K. says with a smirk. “But you can handle it. It’s just a little bit of paperwork. And someone got you really nice pens for the holidays.”

“Yeah someone did,” Carlos says, poking him in the side until he squirms. “Speaking of paperwork, you owe me a thank you note for your gifts.”

T.K. bites his lip. “Why don’t you take me back to your place and I’ll do a little better than a thank you note?”

Fuck. Carlos swallows hard. “What about the party? Won’t your dad be upset?”

“I’m spending Christmas day with him. He’ll live.” He slides a finger along the waistband of Carlos’ jeans. “We can go back in if you really want to though. I do a mean rendition of Jingle Bell Rock. We can stand in there with all of our co-workers and you can try not to think about how good I’d make you feel if the two of us were in bed together.”

Carlos strokes a thumb across T.K.’s cheek. “As much as I would like to hear you sing Jingle Bell Rock, I think I’d rather take you home.”

T.K. gestures toward the street. “Then lead on Festive Friend.”

It’s the merriest Christmas Carlos has had in a long time.

#Tarlos #Tarlos Secret Santa #tarlossanta #tarlossanta23 #Festive Friends #Office AU #Christmas #Secret Santa #Christmas Fluff

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doctorprofessorsong · 1 year

Text

Destiel Fic Recs

It's that time of year where nobody knows what day it is or how they got there, so why not hide from your family/boss to read Destiel fics. And friends, this last list of 2022 may be the best so far.

The Leap by FriendofCarlotta @friendofcarlotta (Explicit, 82k words)

I don't know how to explain the way 91W lit up my brain like one of those old electricity balls at Spencer's but I thought I would never have that experience again until this fic came along. It's a very different, much softer story, but this fic has the 91W vibes that make you want to crunch on your own bones (vintage gay sadness is the tag we live in here). Its so deeply rooted in a sense of place and time. Dean and Cas are so clearly and immediately bonded and kept apart by circumstance. The longing y'all. The way they can't help but fall in love at the risk of their lives and freedom. It's gorgeous.

The fic is set in post WWII occupied Berlin in a divided Germany just before the wall goes up. Cas is a closeted police officer in East Berlin, trying his best to survive under a brutal dictatorship in an environment in which reporting your neighbors is not just encouraged, but expected. Dean is an American-born mechanic residing in West Berlin. For both of them, falling in love with a man could mean arrest, prosecution, and worse.

But they can't help the instant attraction between them. Neither of them is ready to walk away from the hope of a future together, as impossible of a dream as that is.

Beyond the 91W vibes, the thing about this fic is that the canon parallels are just so beautiful. Cas is expected to comply with a rigid hierarchy and to obey absolutely. Dean is trying his best to find optimism for those around him, and he has an irresistible early seasons charm and brashness that makes you fall instantly in love with him. And while there is period homophobia and oppression in this fic, FriendofCarlotta also pulls so much queer joy into the story. A slice of gorgeous community built against all odds and euphoria at finding love and family and shelter in the most hostile of places.

This story made me ugly cry (a true feat) and it's one of those stories you finish and consider turning back to Chapter 1 and reading it all over again. Seriously. Go read it then yell at me about it.

The Law of Equivalent Exchange by awed_frog @awed-frog (Mature, 60k)

This is the fic you have to read in one sitting because you don't want to be crushed by a falling desk like in Mystery Spot and never see the ending. It is gorgeous in a way that I think may have irrevocably changed me. A testament to love and devotion that left me absolutely breathless.

Cas, Angel of Tears, is assigned to watch over the lives of two brothers, tied together and experiencing hundreds of lifetimes of sorrow and joy in preparation for some mysterious Heavenly plan. His mission is to watch over a green-eyed boy, to guide him into each next life. The human doesn't know, doesn't remember (mostly), but it's impossible to ignore the growing bond between them. Cas finds himself inexorably changed by watching the many lives he experiences.

This is a canon fic (and tbh if you don't know canon the middle is going to confuse you because it's a reimagining of canon events with this context). That means awed-frog has somehow managed to make the crunchy Destiel scenes even more heart wrenching (extra crispy?).

This fic had me crying by Chapter 2. It's just a beautiful sweeping epic. And it does have a soft and beautiful landing. I will be thinking about it for awhile.

Märchen by tiamatv (Mature, 93k)

Fairy tale princess Dean Winchester. That's the delightful headline for this really fun and inventive fic. Dean of Winchester is the eldest prince but he lacks magic, making his brother the heir. What else do you do with a spare but promise to marry him off for political reasons, in this case to Michael, an Angel from a neighboring kingdom who lent his swords to Winchester to defeat the demons.

But Dean isn't gonna be some kept pretty thing, so he shocks everyone by saying no. Michael won't marry Dean without his consent, but that term is used very loosely, as angels do. So Dean is locked in a tower full of monsters where he is cursed to remain until he consents or finds his true love.

It's a tale as old as time (yes I said that), but there are some delightfully fresh elements. From Charlie the dragon princess (marry me, Charlie) to a sentient carnivorous hedge, the quirky characters make this fic impossible to put down. There are also some delightful genre choices such as an omnipotent narrator that make this fic feel comforting yet fresh.

In the end, you will be rooting for the angel knight and his prince to slay their inner demons.

A Crash Course in Computer Safety by followthattardis @debatchery (Explicit, 29k)

I love a good fusion and as a fan of the show Chuck, this Chuck Destiel AU absolutely slaps. If you are unfamiliar with the show, it's still an absolutely fun ride. Dean is stuck working at a Best Buy rip off as essentially a member of the Geek Squad. His life is in shambles after his best friend got him expelled from Stanford and stole his girlfriend, but he's making due.

That is until a mysterious email from his ex best friend throws him into a world of intrigue. Suddenly he's got the CIA and the NSA breathing down his neck. Even worse, he has to pretend to be dating the scorching hot CIA operative as a cover.

The Destiel feels are surprisingly potent for a mash-up, and the story is paced so well you won't want to put it down. Bonus points for perfect use of Henriksen.

Buckle up and cue up Short Skirt-Long Jacket by Cake.

The Shadow in the Corner by MalMuses @malmuses (Explicit, 47k)

I don't know that there are many fic writers who excel so thoroughly at classic romance as MalMuses. Her fics bring such a fantastic mix of horny, humor and softness. This one is no exception.

A Victorian steampunk story, this one is set in an alternative timeline where magic is known and the MOL openly fight monsters. Dean aka the Red Hand is tasked with a special investigation - to solve why a monster seems to be targeting the head of the agency's little brother, Castiel.

There's a good bit if mystery and intrigue, but the the headline for me was the delightful way Dean and Cas were both very aware of this instant connection and slowly orbiting each other as gravity pulled them closer. There's a softness to their relationship and it's largely external angst that keeps them apart as long as they are, but you never doubt that they are entirely gone for one another. Yes they suffer from perpetual horniness around each other, but its also very clear they genuinely like each other in a way that melted my cold dead heart.

In the end, a fun read with an exceptionally satisfying ending.

4:08 to Tombstone by Zuzeca (Explicit, 20k)

Cas is a Seraph with a mission: to save Dean Winchester, to retrieve the Michael Sword from Hell. But Dean perceives Hell not as it is, but instead as the wild west. Thrown into a bisexual cowboy fantasy, Cas has to navigate a dangerous escape while protecting this beautiful soul from those who would destroy it.

This fic is an absolute treasure. Amazing trueform angel descriptions, some gorgeous treatment of Dean’s Hell trauma, and a poignant bond between Dean and Cas that makes it a really sweet read (though mind the tags it gets dark). Its a really fun and novel take on the escape from Hell.

All That Remains by DoctorProfessorSong (Mature, 16k)

I am going to be annoying and self-rec here but I just released a fic I am super proud of. It's bittersweet and emotional and I poured my grief and parts of my soul into it. The tags are daunting but I do think it ends in a satisfying and hopeful place.

The stabfest story examines a canon divergent world where Dean is turned into a demon by the MOC, and Cas is forced to kill him to free him. He has a plan to save Dean, but it fails and Dean makes a deal with the Shadow to escape the Empty. The same deal as Cas. What follows is a reinterpretation of canon where both of them are unable to speak the truth because they risk losing it all.

It's a story about love and loss and hope. And perhaps most importantly it's a story about faith, not as some cheap fix-all, but as something that you hold in your heart in the darkest places.

Tag list below the cut. Let me know if you want to be tagged in future lists.

@varlysca @naturallyathief @greatbigbuggerer @fandoms-and-things @cascodedtech @you-cant-spell-subtext-without @deanwasalwaysbi @fellshish @valleydean @raspberry-tooth @the15yearhatecrime

#destiel fic recs #deancas fic recs #destiel fic rec #deancas fic rec #Destiel #deancas #spn fic recs #supernatural fic rec

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late-to-the-magnus-archives · 1 year

Text

Vast!Jon AU snippet (which I screaming like an angry badger)

Martin/Jon Childhood Friends

Will they/won’t they (they will)

A plane crash! Angst! Drama!

Vast!Jon, professional photographer

Lonely!Martin, professional baker

Old guys playing dice with the universe!

Nothing is sacred here.

Martin has signed a contract he shouldn't.

The Lonely has him.

Jon is not okay.

And no, Jon: Elias is not on your side.

-----------------

Whatever Jon expected to happen tonight, it did not involve a bunch of old men yelling at each other.

Well. Not yelling. But the tension and lying smiles and flashing eyes are nearly enough to send Jon running out of the room.

If Martin had returned any of his calls or texts, Jon would have. But Martin has not.

Jon will not leave.

“Really, Peter, I thought we had an understanding,” Elias is saying, absolutely condescending and yet somehow absolutely terrifying, like Death in a board meeting.

“You can’t just pick up every interesting one that pops along,” says Peter Lukas, who clearly does not want to be here, is the only one of the men who’s physically imposing, and also seems most likely to bolt. “How was I supposed to know he was connected?”

“You ask, as we have all been doing - with respect - for the past dozen years.”

“Now, now, gentlemen,” says Simon, who visibly thinks this is all hilarious and doesn’t give a damn who knows. “This is easily resolved, isn’t it? After all, none of our prodigies bear single marks these days! Maybe we can dangle him and see what else bites.”

Lukas looks disgruntled.

Elias claps his hands, a pleased and satisfied punctuation. “Yes! A lovely idea. We can send out word - you wanted eyes on his little show, anyway, did you not? - and reap the multifaceted reward.”

“There. Problem solved.” Simon’s smile says he knows it isn’t.

“That doesn’t work, Elias,” says Lukas.

“Oh, why not?” Elias says, smarmy as hell.

“Because the entire nature of my patron precludes sharing! Elias, you’re being an ass.”

Simon cracks up.

Jon does not.

He literally does not have a place at this table - he’s in the corner on a spare chair, silent while the three of them argue around Elias’ desk.

He has no room to argue. He’s brand new. He doesn’t have a bargaining chip.

He also knows - and Elias made damn sure he did - that he is not strong enough to go against Peter Lukas, and if he did try, he would be lost, swallowed, thrown in whatever the Lonely is, and gone forever.

But that’s where Martin is now, and Jon is not okay.

Elias scoffs. “Peter, you’re being unreasonable.”

“No! We’ve finally found exactly what we’ve been looking for all these years, and you’re telling me you want me to share him? Absolutely not!”

He's funny, Lukas. He’s sitting there, but he almost isn’t.

There’s… there’s something around his chair. Obscuring him slightly, making his form just a pinch out of focus.

Subtly, quietly, Jon lifts the camera around his neck to see if he can spot it through the viewfinder.

Well. He can.

Elias glances his way once.

It's a keen look. He absolutely knows what Jon is doing - and he does not interfere. “Nobody is asking you to give him up, Peter, that’s not what’s happening - but you managed to pick someone inextricably tied to our current golden boy, and that means he isn’t fully suited for the Lonely, anyway, is he?”

Elias absolutely knows that’s not true - Jon sees it on his face - but Peter falls for it at once.

“I thought you were smarter than that,” snaps Peter. “That’s what makes him perfect. One deep relationship to sever is a perfect sacrifice for my patron, and I’ll have you know - ”

Peter starts ranting.

It’s all about loneliness, and the cost, and the necessity, and the beauty, and the uselessness of love, and the deception of intimacy, and -

Jon tunes him out.

He’s awed, momentarily, at what Elias just did. In one sentence, he prompted Peter to admit that Martin needs a rescue, and at the same time got Peter distracted by intentionally misrepresenting the Lonely so he’d get all heated.

Jon is very glad Elias is on his side.

He glances through his viewfinder again. That fog is right there.

So is the path leading into it, disappearing somewhere between the gentle billows.

Elias had said that if Peter threw him into that place, he’d be lost.

Elias never said anything about walking into it on purpose.

Jon glances up again.

Elias glances back. Just one, tiny look - not concerned. Focused. Intense.

Surely, if Jon were in danger for what he was thinking (and he had no illusions that Elias couldn’t see that), Elias would warn him.

No warnings. Only that unblinking, unwavering focus that Jon was still trying to get used to.

So.

Martin was lost in that fog, somehow.

And Jon sees a way in.

Calmly, quietly, Jon stands.

Peter pays no attention at all. Simon has gotten involved now (“Oh, come on, next you’re going to say your damned patron cares who gets eaten”) and Peter’s turned on him, saying all kinds of horrible things about loss and life and love and how foolish Simon is to get invested in anybody.

Without the camera, Jon sees nothing.

With it, he sees the path, and almost swears it’s beckoning.

Calmly, quietly, Jon walks right in.

Peter startles. Jon sees that.

But then Peter and the Institute and everything else is gone. Coldness envelops Jon, and the deep, soft-edged aching of loneliness and despair, and now, the only thing here beside the mist is Simon’s lingering cackle.

#vast!jon #tma au #tma #tma fic #fic in progress #wip #amwriting #peter lukas #elias bouchard #simon fairchild

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anneimaginesundertale · 10 months

Note

SO makes small meaningful gift for Asgore?

Like all Asgores, MF Asgore loved kids. In the monster city in Mafiafell, the monster kids needed extra love and care, so Asgore made not one but two appearances as Santa. The summer gifts were usually new shoes and clothes and maybe something else Asgore knew the family needed. This was also a great cover for him being a big scary mob boss.

---------------------------------------------------------------

You weren't the usual person who came to this event. It wasn't really for adults. Or for humans for that matter. The Gyftmas in July event was for monster children, who all came for a chance to see Santa and get a gift from him. You stood out like a sore thumb, even though you'd dressed up like an elf.

Monsters whispered and moved away from you as you joined the line. "It's all right," you assured them with a big smile. "I know Santa."

That didn't seem to reassure anybody. Santa's guards came over and gave you a thorough sniffing. You didn't mind. You even let them sniff the gift you'd brought for Santa. They shuffled away with their tails wagging, excited that something new was happening.

The monsters in line grew more comfortable with you as the line moved forward. You joked with the kids and got them laughing. By the time you reached the front of the line, everybody knew you were there and why.

Santa still looked surprised to see you, though. "What are you doing here?" he rumbled.

"Don't you mean ho ho ho?" you chirped, beaming at him. "Can I sit on your lap, Santa?"

His fluffy cheeks flushed. "I...you may be too big..."

"No!" a child behind you said. "Nobody's too big for you, Santa!"

Well, he couldn't argue with that. You hopped onto his knee.

With the eyes of the children on him, Santa had to say, "Ho ho ho. And what do you want for Gyftmas in July, little one?"

"Can I whisper it to you?" you asked. "It's kind of secret."

He nodded. You had to stretch to reach his ear, but you whispered, "I want you for Gyftmas, Asgore."

He let out a startled bleat and you nearly fell off his lap. He just barely managed to stay in character. "Ho ho, I think we could manage that!"

"Oh good!" You kissed his cheek and hugged him. "Now, I have a present for you, Santa! Because you've been so good this year and given presents to everybody else!" You pulled the small box out of your pocket and placed it in his hand.

"Thank you," he managed. "I will open it later. I have lots of other friends to see."

"Of course!" You kissed his cheek again and hopped off his lap. "I'll see you for dinner!" You waved at him and hurried off before he could say anything else.

Later that night, after dinner, Asgore said, "You did not have to make such a public display. It was dangerous. If my enemies knew what you mean to me, they might try to harm you."

You waved a hand. "None of your enemies came to that thing," you said. "They're all on the naughty list anyways."

"I am serious, Y/N."

"I thought you were Asgore."

"Y/N." His tone held a warning.

You shrugged, too excited for any real remorse. "Sorry," you said, "but I had to! I really really wanted to give you that gift, and I didn't want to wait all day for you to get home!"

Asgore sighed. "What am I going to do with you?"

"Open my present?" you suggested.

"Very well." He pulled the box out of his pocket and carefully removed the bow, then the wrapping paper. He opened the small velvet box and stared at the contents.

Finally your excitement was tempered (a little bit) with nerves. "I know it's not exactly traditional," you said, "or at least it isn't for humans, but I saw it and I knew it was what I wanted to get for you for this."

"For what?" he asked, his eyes still fixed on the beautiful jeweled flower pin in the box.

You knelt down in front of him. "I love you," you said. "I absolutely adore you, and I want you to be mine forever. Please, Asgore, I know there's all kinds of politics and stupid stuff in the way, but...will you be my husband?"

Tears filled the monster don's eyes. He set the box on the table and reached down to pull you up into his arms. "Oh dear one," he said, holding you close. "I want to. I truly do. But you are right that there are politics at play and there is still the matter of my enemies. A wedding would definitely make you a target."

"I don't need a wedding," you said, leaning your head against his broad chest. "Not a big one. Just...can't we just bond our souls, without all the fuss and everything? I just want you to be mine."

"I will see what I can do," he said. "And in the meantime, I will wear your pin. It is beautiful."

"I knew you'd like it. And it's not an engagement ring, so it could just be a pin you got because you like flowers. Nobody has to know what it really means." You pressed a kiss to the fur on his neck. "I don't need everybody to know you're mine. Just me."

"I can assure you I am yours even without a soul bond," he said and leaned down to kiss you properly. "We can discuss more later."

#mf asgore #mf asgore x reader #drabble

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larabiatasstuff · 7 months

Note

Sooo......I may have been the one who asked you about the character vs character question, thank you for answering that by the way. And I love your choices! Especially taligaro! How would you feel about writing a story where they fight over you? I bet taligaro would beat the knave hands down! Xxx

Oh I really like that request. I'll absolutely write that for you🖤 I'm glad you liked my character choice. 🙏

Being the first female instructor for the royal army was amazing. It took a little time until I got the respect I earned but now, nobody questioned my decisions anymore. It was a sunny afternoon when I taught my soldiers how to parry enemy attacks when suddenly queen Mirana approached us. "My queen, is there anything I can help you with?" "Oh Y/N, there's no need for formalities. I was just taking a walk and thought it would be interesting for you to hear that the general and Stayne are fighting each other in the courtyard." "Excuse me, they do what?" I asked. "Oh yes and I heard your name very often. Would you be so kind and go check on them before someone gets hurt?" "Of course my queen." then I turned to my soldiers "You are dismissed, we see each other tomorrow." with that I ran over to the courtyard where Tal and Stayne were having a heated argument. "What on earth are you doing? Queen Mirana said she saw you fighting, what is this all about?" I said and turned their attention to me. Stayne took a few steps towards me, giving me a friendly smile. "First of all it's lovely to see you Y/N the general and I were talking about the upcoming festivities and of course I told him that you should definitely go with someone who knows manners and how to behave, someone like me." "Bullshit Y/N and I know each other since we were kids. She'll choose me of course." Tal said. "Stop it both of you! So you want to tell me that all this drama is just about who I'm going to the ball with? Have you even considered asking me for a second?" they both looked at each other. "I take that as a no. Really guys this is so unnecessary." I said shaking my head. "Of course I thought about having a word with you Y/N but the heart of a lovely woman like you deserves to be captured by a real man, so I challenge you general Taligaro to a duell for the hand of the lovely Y/N!" "Oh yeah? Well you can have that Stayne I'll kick your ass so hard your grandchildren won't be able to sit properly." Tal said holding out his sword.I sighed "Alright listen if this is the only way for you to solve this, so be it. But please don't hurt each other we have to train the new recruits. Alright get in fighting stance aaaand go." As soon as I gave them the signal they both started lunging at each other and the sound of metal clashing on metal echoed through the courtyard. Stayne was a giant compared to Tal and it looked like he had the upper hand but Tal was fast and agile. He managed to block most of his attacks and landed a few hits himself. He was so fast that Stayne lost his focus, stumbled and fell to the ground. Taligaro standing above him holding his sword to his throat. "Okay that's enough, Tal you won. Come take my hand Stayne I help you up." I said pulling him to his feet "Soooo does that mean we're going to the ball together?" Tal asked wearing a huge smile. I rolled my eyes at him. "Yes Tal that means we're going to the ball under one condition, you two will behave and at least try to get along alright? You cost me a whole training session today. So if you'd excuse me I have to be somewhere else." with that I made my way to the quarters wearing a smile on my face, I mean who could say that two handsome men are fighting each other because of you.

#thomas ian griffith #sensei targaryen #general taligaro #crispin hellion glover #ilosovic stayne #knave of hearts.#general taligaro x reader #ilosovic stayne x reader

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razieltwelve · 10 months

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Saviour Sees All (Final Rose AU)

Blake headed back to her team’s dorm room and then froze when she saw who was sitting on her bed... and what they were holding.

“Where’s my team?” Blake asked Averia.

The pink-haired woman’s lips twitched, and she took off her sunglasses before tucking them into her pocket. Her emerald gaze pinned Blake in place. “I sent them elsewhere.”

“You sent them elsewhere?” Blake blinked. “What are you... some kind of supervillain?”

“I suppose it depends on who you ask.” Averia patted the book on her lap. “And speaking of asking... I find myself very curious about this book of yours, Blake.”

“Uh...” Blake tried to keep a straight face. "I have no idea what you’re talking about. It’s just a regular book.”

“The cover is for a regular book, yes.” Averia opened the book. “On the inside? It’s a journal, and I must say that you have some very interesting thoughts.”

“...” Blake was so screwed, and not in a good way either.

Averia smiled. It was chilling. “You seem to have something of a fixation with Saviour and whether or not it can be used to optimise sex.”

“I can totally explain that.”

“By all means.” Averia gestured. “Explain.”

“...” Blake winced. “Shit. I’ve got nothing.”

“I didn’t think so.” Averia closed the journal and set it down. “Yes.”

Blake stared. “Yes?”

“Yes. Saviour can optimise sex.”

Blake’s mouth went dry.

“If I was so inclined, Blake, I could absolutely rock your world.” Averia stood and calmly removed her suit jacket before setting it over the back of Blake’s chair. Her vest soon followed, as did her tie. However, rather than set her tie aside too, she left it on Blake’s pillow. Averia caught her staring, and a ghost of a smile crossed her lips. “I have a feeling I’ll be needing that later.”

Blake had to remember how to breathe.

“As I was saying,” Averia continued. “If I wanted to, Blake, I could make you forget your own name. I could completely ruin sex for you with anyone else but me because whenever someone touched you, the only thing you’d be able to think about would be me and what I could do to you.”

“...”

Averia gestured, and Saviour’s power rolled out. “Nobody will be able to enter this room until I let them. Nobody will be able to see, hear, or perceive what we do here. And as for time... well, we’ll have all the time we want.”

“Are... are you serious?” Blake managed to say.

“Absolutely.” Averia’s smile turned wicked. “But, Blake, there’s something you have to do for me first.”

At this point, Blake would have crawled across broken glass.

“I need you to tell me what you want me to do.”

“But...” Blake stuttered. “But you already read the journal. You already know -”

“Yes. I do. But I want to hear you say the words, Blake.” Averia undid the top button of her shirt. “Otherwise, I’ll walk out of here.”

Blake swallowed thickly. “Why...?”

There was something almost cruel in Averia’s smile now. “I’ve noticed a certain trend in your fantasies, Blake. And believe me, it didn’t take Saviour to notice it either. You want me to take charge. You want me to take control. You want me to tell you what to do.” Her eyes gleamed. “And I’m telling you to say the words, Blake. What you’ve written down in your journal? That’s fantasy. Say the words, Blake. Say the words and make them real. That’s what I’m asking you to do.”

Blake took a deep breath. As... raunchy as her fantasies could be, as... depraved as some of the smut she enjoyed was, she was also a very private person. Actually saying those things aloud...

“I’m waiting, Blake.” Averia opened the journal to a certain page. “This particular scenario might be a good starting point.” She glanced back at Blake. “Tied up, gagged, and kept on the brink. That does sound fun, and with Saviour keeping track of things, who knows how long I can keep you there.” She patted her cheek with one gloved hand. “Ah, and I even have gloves on. Imagine that.”

Blake’s gaze immediately snapped to the long, slender fingers and the smooth, silken fabric of the gloves. Sweet Dust...

“I’m starting to lose patience, Blake. Are you someone who merely writes down their fantasies but has no intention of pursuing them, or are you someone who can proudly announce what they want?”

Blake took another deep breath. What left her lips was basically gobbledegook, an almost random conglomeration of every single fantasy she’d ever had about Averia. She trailed off, cheeks red, and utterly mortified.

“Well...” Averia shrugged. “That’ll do, I suppose.”

And then Blake next to Averia, an application of Saviour smoothly teleporting her onto the bed.

“Now,” Averia said. “In the interests of completeness, I think we’ll start at page one.”

Blake’s eyes widened. “Uh...”

“Although we might have to take a few breaks before we finish.” Averia leaned toward her. “Because you have two hundred and thirty-two pages of fantasies here, and unless I’m mistaken, this is only volume one of seven.”

X X X

Author’s Notes

Someone asked for Averia x Blake.

Behold.

But, yeah, Blake likes to fantasise. Averia can optimise. Is that a perfect match, or what?

#final rose #fanfiction #averia yun farron #blake belladonna

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amandayetagain · 1 year

Text

It's You | Fedex Secret Santa 2022

a red string soulmate au where Fitz can’t see his string, and Dex can see all of them. Dex’s parents weren’t soulmates- but they were in love, and shamed for it. So of course Dex doesn’t want to turn his back on his family by finding his soulmate. Only, he does- and has kept it a secret for five years. Things get complicated when his soulmate, Fitz Vacker, asks for his help to find the person on the other end of his string. Oops?

Finding the person on the other end of his red string had never been high on Dex’s list of priorities. Especially since he was one of the gifted few who saw all of the strings. Which obviously made it significantly more difficult. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy a challenge- just that he didn’t care.

His parents weren’t soulmates. But they were so in love, it was sickening to watch. Since they decided to essentially flip off society by getting married anyway, by daring to have children- they were ostracized. If his parents could be that happy together, the red strings didn’t really matter anymore, did they?

Yet Dex still found himself wondering. Who was tied to him? Did his soulmate want to find him? Had his soulmate tried to find him? Would something happen to his soulmate if they didn’t find him? Would they be shunned, like his own family? Did that mean he had a responsibility to at least try to find his soulmate?

It was a lot.

Emphasis on the past tense.

Five years ago, he had found his soulmate.

“You’re lucky,” Biana complained, directing her grievance at Sophie and Keefe. “You two found each other the first week you were both at Foxfire. I learned Morse Code for my soulmate, and they won’t even tap back.”

“Have you considered that your soulmate doesn’t know Morse Code?” Fitz inquired. His little sister scoffed.

“Of course not. If my soulmate is anything like me, they would be trying their absolute hardest to communicate.”

“It could be an opposites-attract kind of situation,” Sophie suggested.

“What a slacker.”

“At least you can see your string,” Fitz teased.

He looked down at his pinky finger, tracing the invisible tie to his soulmate. He plucked at it as if it were from a guitar. Shit. Dex jolted upward as a twang vibrated through his body. A pang of guilt struck him, and he desperately grasped at a chance to change the subject.

“It isn’t a competition to see who’s got it the worst, okay? This is, frankly, depressing.”

“He’s right,” Linh piped. “The Neverseen are finally out of the picture, and you all have just found something else to latch onto. It’s not healthy! The elite levels are meant for figuring out what to do for eternity, not moping around over soulmates that you have forever to find.”

“With that logic, we also have forever to figure out our careers,” Tam pointed out, not looking up from his book.

Linh huffed, crossing her arms.

“Not the backup I was looking for, Tam.”

“I’ve managed perfectly well without a soulmate to help me. I've never needed one before, and I’m not about to start now.”

Despite agreeing with Tam, his words didn’t sit right with Dex.

------------------------------------------------------

The day had been going fine before Fitz showed up, if you could believe it. Dex’s mom had taken the triplets to Havenfield with Aunt Eda and Uncle Grady. Kesler was in the shop, so nobody was home to interrupt. Dex could just . . . be. Also, being home alone meant full access to the kitchen. No greedy siblings (or dad) to steal whatever he was cooking.

He didn’t even get to raid the pantry before the doorbell rang.

Making his way towards the door, Dex took a moment to mourn his free time.

“Oh . . . hi, Fitz. Not to be rude, but . . . why are you here?”

His cheeks pink, and he grins, looking down at his feet. He tilted his head up slightly, aiming his abashed smile directly at Dex.

“I need to talk to you about something. It’s pretty important- to me, at least.”

Dex stepped aside, allowing space for Fitz to come in.

“What is it?”

Fitz straightened, taking a deep breath to seemingly summon courage. Dex had a feeling he wasn’t going to like what happened next.

His instincts didn’t fail him.

“I need you to help me find my soulmate.”

Dex stumbled backwards, eyes widening. He could feel his heartbeat accelerate, breaths coming short and fast. How did Fitz even know he could help with that? That he could see the strings?

“Sophie didn’t mean to tell me- it just came up in cognate training. And since I can’t see my string . . . I figured you could help me.”

If you’d bother to try, you’d know I’m right here, he wanted to scream. Did you really just give up because you can’t see your string?

“Why should I help you,” he dared, crossing his arms.

Fitz’s expression morphed to one of confusion, pained. As if he’d just been slapped by someone he cared for.

“Because . . . we’re, or at least I thought we were . . . friends.”

“Friends.”

“Yeah! After the prison break on Exile, I thought we were good.” His eyes dropped to a ring he wore on his right ring finger. “You even gave me a panic ring.”

“I gave everyone a panic ring,” Dex said, softening.

“You still didn’t have to give me one. I can go- I guess I just, um,” he struggled to find the right words. “I guess I was wrong. I’m sorry. I’ll-I’m just going to,” he stumbled backwards, laughing it off. “Go. I’ll go. Um, that’s probably a good idea.”

“Don’t. I’ll help you. Come in.”

He turned, walking briskly back to the kitchen. Fitz rushed behind him, closing the door.

“Really? You will?”

“I said I would, didn’t I?”

“I’ve thought about it a ton,” Fitz said, getting down to business. “And it might be harder, but I think it's best to look for them at an event where most of the population will be. The Celestial Festival is perfect, we can just levitate above, and the string will be easy to see. I can make it up to you however you want.”

“You’re making this sound like a transaction.”

And if Dex was being smart about this, he would treat it like one. When Fitz was around, things got complicated.

“Well- I thought-”

“We’re friends, aren’t we?”

Such a dangerous thing to be.

Dex could practically feel the warmth of Fitz’s blush from the other side of the cabinet door.

“Right.”

He probably shouldn’t take so much joy in being the cause of Fitz’s blush- or his entire dilemma, but he finally got why Keefe liked to play the “Make Foster Blush Game” so much. It was kind of intoxicating.

“Ripplenuts? They’re roasted.”

“Uh, sure.”

“So, what now?”

Fitz raked a hand through his hair, looking sheepish.

“I didn’t think that far, to be honest. Would you be against . . . hanging out? The Celestial Festival is this weekend, and I have to bring a date, and since you’re going to be there with me anyway, we could, you know, go together?”

“Are you sure your family would be okay with that?”

He shrugged.

“They’re the ones making me bring someone, so they don’t really have a choice in the matter.”

“That’s kind of surprising,” Dex commented, sitting down. “That your family is making you bring a date- I thought they were kind of strict when it comes to soulmate stuff.”

“They are. Dating anyone before your soulmate is viewed as a practice relationship. It supposedly helps you better commit to a real relationship with your soulmate. It’s kind of manipulative, but as long as both parties know what they signed up for, it’s fine. It’s pretty common, actually.”

Dex . . . didn’t know how to feel.

Did his parents think they could shelter this from him? Was he a practice date? A fake practice date? Did he want to be Fitz’s date?

That would certainly simplify things.

He shouldn’t be, though. Distance was key to indifference. And as long as Dex could at least act like he didn’t care, hopefully it would be on its way to becoming reality.

“It’ll be nice to go without having to worry if Sophie will create a big enough spectacle to impress the Council, or if the Neverseen will attack,” Fitz reasoned, blushing softly. “The former was still rather enjoyable though.”

The former.

That was what- four? Four-ish years ago?

After Sophie had gotten her abilities reset, she was under enormous pressure to dazzle the entire elvin world with Silveny as the finale to Orem’s performance. What made it even more stressful was that Silveny had recently broken her wing. It also didn’t help that taking the alicorn to go get her abilities reset was an act of treason (according to Bronte). And since Grady had let her go, the Council had to decide on a punishment.

It was a hectic time.

But while he was there, he realized that Fitz, Keefe, and Biana weren’t just Sophie’s friends- they were his too.

“What do you mean you’ve never been to a Celestial Festival,” Fitz had gasped, mouth agape. Everyone goes!”

“Clearly not everyone.”

“Why?”

“We usually watch a movie instead. My parents said it wouldn’t be the same without Uncle Grady and Aunt Eda, and they haven’t been up for it since before I was born.”

Right. Jolie’s death.

“At least they’re doing better now,” he offered.

“Yeah. I feel like I barely know them- they’re so much happier now. Where’s your family?”

He shrugged, gesturing towards a cacophony of Vackers.

“Somewhere in there. Keefe and Biana got a little trapped.”

“Aren’t you going to save them?”

“Nah.”

Fitz turned back to face Dex, resting on his side. Even under at least three layers of tailored clothes, he was shivering, breath puffing out into the air. A fluff-lined hood framed his face, snowflakes caught in his eyelashes.

“Didn’t your parents teach you temperature regulation?” Dex asked, reaching out to feel how cold Fitz’s pink cheeks were with the back of his hand. “You come here every year, don’t you?”

He blushed at the touch, eyes widening the tiniest bit.

“I’m pretty sure your parents are the only ones unique enough to do that.”

“You mean weird.”

“Yeah,” Fitz agreed. “But weird isn’t a bad thing.”

A gentle smile played across Dex’s face.

Fitz shifted closer, imitating what Dex had done-was still doing- to estimate his temperature.

“You know your lips are going to get chapped, right?”

“I came prepared,” Fitz exclaimed, sitting up abruptly to dig through his pockets. He pulled out a tube of chapstick triumphantly, eyes sparkling. He grinned, carefully covering his lips in deep concentration.

And for some indecipherable reason, Dex couldn’t tear his eyes away.

“Sure. For convenience.”

“Yeah. Sure.”

He had the nerve to be disappointed when this was all to find his soulmate? This was his plan, not Dex’s. It also didn’t really sit right, being a ‘practice date.’ Even if he was Fitz’s soulmate. A lot of things hadn’t been sitting right, recently.

------------------------------------------------------

The night of the Celestial Festival came far too quickly.

“Nobody wants to miss the finale,” Fitz informs Dex. “It’ll have the most highly concentrated number of elves.”

“Yeah, yeah. I remember.”

Dex tries and fails to keep a smile from cracking his solemn facade. His soulmate was just so serious. It was a sharp contrast from what he had grown up with, messing with nobles in Slurp and Burps, having snowball fights in the yard.

“We’ve gone over it a million times,” Dex continues. “It’s going to be fine. You can relax. The Celestial Festival is supposed to be fun, right?”

“Right.”

He exhales, tension leaving his body.

“Better?”

“Much.”

Fitz flashed Dex a smile, and fuck, Dex was screwed. What was he even doing? All it took was a soft smile and warm, trusting eyes, and his heart practically stopped. Where were his defenses when he needed them? When had he dropped his guard?

“Are you alright,” he asked, eyebrows drawn together in concern. “Dex?”

“Y-yeah,” Dex stammered. He had simply lost his control over his respiratory system. No big deal.

“Are you sure?”

A chorus of screams raced through Dex’s mind. No! He was not alright! He was being too sweet with his double-checking, and worried forehead crease, and hands reaching out to hold Dex’s, and oh stars, Fitz’s eyes hadn’t once left Dex’s.

He broke their gaze, looking down at their fingers twined together.

“You don’t have to do this,” Fitz added. His breath was warm against Dex’s forehead, and Dex cursed his growth spurt for stopping before he could at least match Fitz’s height. “We can stay down here, and watch the show.”

His eyes flicked back up to Fitz’s, vulnerable as hell.

“Really?”

“Of course.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

Fitz was trying so goddamn hard. He was being so fucking considerate, and if he didn’t know him so well, Dex might have believed he was fine.

“Screw you, Fitz Vacker,” Dex cursed, resting his forehead on Fitz's chest.

“I’m sorry, what?”

Dex let go of Fitz’s hands, fisting his own in the thick fabric at Fitz’s hips. And that boy, that sweet, sweet boy, hugged him.

“Give me your hand,” Dex managed, voice muffled.

It took a beat for Fitz to respond.

“Uh, no.”

“What do you mean, no?”

“I don’t want to.”

“It’s about your string.”

“I got that,” he said, frustrated. “I don’t care.”

Dex drew back, searching Fitz’s face for some sign of a lie, a clue of some sort to help him comprehend the statement. But he came up empty.

“Dex.”

“Give me a minute,” Dex said, shaking his head. “Give me a minute.”

“Dex . . . I don’t care anymore. I don’t want to find my soulmate. Look at your parents! That could be us!”

“I never really aspired to become my parents,” Dex stammered.

“Look, I’ve got my own issues to work through, with whatever the hell the Vacker Legacy is- or was, and expectations, and if I’m being totally honest here, I didn’t ask you to help me find my soulmate so you could actually find my soulmate. I just wanted an excuse,” he confessed, shoulders sagging. “To be with you.”

“You know you don’t actually need an excuse to spend time with me? And if I’m being totally honest, this is kind of out of the blue for me?”

“I’m sorry about that- this hasn’t been going at all the way I wanted it to- let me start over.”

Dex nodded, squeezing Fitz’s hand.

“Would you, Dex Dizznee, want to go out with me, Fitz Vacker, on a real date? None of the not-soulmates business messing it up?”

“About that,” Dex started. “Not to undermine your dramatic confession and rejection of prevalent societal norms, but . . .”

He took Fitz’s other hand, placing it on top of their string.

They met eyes, Fitz at a loss.

“Go on.”

He ran his fingertips across the string, slowly stopping as he came to the other end.

“It’s not going through you.”

“It’s not going through me.”

“It’s tied to you.”

“Yup,” Dex agreed, trying desperately to keep his cool.

Fitz sat down, drawing his knees to his chest. His eyes were wide, errantly blinking.

Dex sat down next to him, making sure to give his soulmate some breathing room. He looked like his brain was going hundreds of miles an hour. It was . . . kind of cute, situation aside.

“How . . . how long have you known?”

“Well, I was pretty sure it was you the day you called me Deck-” Fitz’s cheeks heated “-but I was absolutely certain after the break on Exile,” he admitted. “I didn’t really know how to feel about it. I knew how I was supposed to feel about it, if I was a normal kid, born into a normal family, but I’m not. My parents told me they’d be happy no matter what choice I made. It’s probably true- but it’s still a loaded decision.”

“Then how am I supposed to tell you,” Fitz managed, voice breaking. “I’m so glad it’s you?”

“You just did.”

Fitz buried his face in his hands, ineffectively raking a mittened hand through his hair as he looked back at his soulmate. Wow, his soulmate. They were soulmates.

“Stars, Dex- I’m so glad it’s you.”

Dex tackled Fitz in a hug, laughing.

“And I thought I was a dork.”

“I’m not entirely sure what that word means, but it sounds like an insult.”

“I can’t believe you know.”

“That you’re my soulmate, or that I’m your soulmate?”

“At risk of sounding self-obsessed, the latter,” Dex clarified, chest light. Sharing a secret had never felt so good. It was freeing, almost.

“It’s you,” Fitz whispered, head nestled against Dex’s neck.

“Yeah. It’s me.”

@booksscienceandmath @squishmallow36

#fedex #red string au #soulmate au #amanda writes yet again #secret santa was a little late huh #the flashback is in italics and was my favorite part to write

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